The Thick of UNIT
by Nehszriah
Summary: Malcolm Tucker has settled into his new life of incarceration when a mysterious recommendation has freed him from the custody of the Crown, only to fall under the command of UNIT and her Head of Scientific Research. [eventual Malcolm/Kate; contains strong Tucker-esque language]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: this went up on my writing tumblr yesterday, and since I seemed to get such a positive response there I decided to upload it here too.

This will be multi-chapter, with sporadic updates, as well as picking and choosing what I want to keep/change from each continuity because AU holla. Set sometime post-Goolding Inquiry/Day of the Doctor.

* * *

 **The Thick of UNIT**

 _One_

The guard knocked on the open door of the prison cell, alerting the lone occupant of his presence. "Hey Tucker, you're wanted in the offices."

Malcolm Tucker snapped the library book he was reading shut and placed it on his bed as he sat up to pocket his spectacles. His cell was sparse—just a change of clothes and a couple books under his bed. He had no room for comforts here, he had decided, and it was for the better. The past two months of having no contact with the outside world, not to mention three required squares a day, had done wonders for him, making him the most relaxed he had been in years… no, decades. The perjury sentence (there were others he was serving, but he liked to take them on by one) was a blessing in disguise, making him understand why it was a thing for prisons to be hotbeds for religious conversion.

Silently, he followed the guard as they made their way through the corridors. At least the court had the decency to send him to a minimum-security prison, one full of debtors and white-collar crooks. It was a congenial atmosphere, if a prison could be called one, and it suited him, if he was completely honest.

A few minutes later and Malcolm was sitting in a plain room of concrete and steel. A table was situated in the middle, with two chairs facing one another and a lamp hanging from the ceiling—very Hollywood set if he said so himself. The mirror on the wall was a one-way, he knew; even an idiot without a functioning brain stem could have seen that. The guard left the room and suddenly he was alone.

Nearly half an hour passed with nothing happening. Finally a woman walked into the room, his age, blond hair to her shoulder, and in a well-tailored suit. She placed a manila folder on the table and sat down, folding her hands over it.

"Been enjoying yourself, Mister Tucker?" she asked, voice flat.

"Well, they haven't found me hanging by my trouser ties yet," he shrugged. A silence fell between them, the woman not moving a muscle. "Tough crowd."

"I'm not here to crack ill-suited jokes, Mister Tucker," she said. She opened the folder and began to flip through the papers—a dossier on him, complete with his prison mugshot and the photo that was his doom in the Inquiry. "A total of twenty-seven years spent working in politics, with the most recent twelve used to lurk in and around Whitehall. Only living family a mother, a sister, and a niece back in Glasgow, whom you only see on rare occasion; no personal life outside of them, so no partner or children; not even a pet. Seems like a fairly lonely life you lead."

"What do you care?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. Malcolm tensed up, straightening his back and shoulders. "No one fucking cares, not unless they think they've got something on me. Let me tell you, sweetheart: even in here I'm unfuckable."

"Good thing that was proven wrong at the Goolding Inquiry, or I'd have to worry about the social structure of the entire prison collapsing," the woman snarked. She plucked a paper from the dossier and read it aloud. " _'Good with technology, easily adaptable, temper issues and prone to swearing'—_ they were right on that part _—'good at intimidation tactics, and will work himself endlessly for a given cause.'_ That doesn't even _start_ on the glowing recommendation we got from another one of our agents…"

"Agents…?" he growled. Malcolm leaned forward, brows furrowed and voice low and gravelly. "What game are you playing?"

"We've been monitoring your behavior for a long time now, Mister Tucker, much longer than you realize, and I think I can get you out of here before teatime."

"I'm serving multiple consecutive sentences; the only way I'll probably get out of here is either with a walker or in a bloody box."

"That's where you're wrong," the woman said. Putting down the paper, she picked up another and put it in front of Malcolm, along with a pen from her jacket pocket. "If you sign right there on the line, you will never have to worry about such things as prison terms and shivs and whatever cock-and-bull happens in these places. Sign, and you gain your freedom."

"…and what's the catch?" he asked, pulling his spectacles out of his shirt pocket and putting them on. He began to scan over the document and frowned. "I heard of you—you're that pet project of the PM's."

"We've been the pet project of the PM's since before there was a PM," she replied. "That's just a contract, nothing out of the ordinary. It merely states that you will serve out the remainder of your sentencing under our watchful eye, where you will lend your expertise for the good of Queen, Country, and Planet."

Malcolm pushed the paper back towards her. "I already gave my all for Queen and Country, and the only thing those two old bats have bothered to give back is free room and board for the rest of my miserable wank of a life. What makes you think adding ' _Planet'_ to the list is incentive?"

"I was told that you went into politics because you thought you could make a difference that way," she said. "Brown-haired and bushy-eyed, you didn't realize that sort of life would only spit you out after taking you for everything you have and stand for and distorting it beyond recognition. Well, Mister Tucker, this is an opportunity for something better than that."

"…with a bunch of limp-dicked egghead scientists pushing pencils and testing theorem about microwaving water or whatever it is you tits do?"

"Not quite that, but I think you'll catch on pretty quickly." She pushed the contract back and straightened the contents of the manila folder. "Now if you excuse me, I don't have all day. Either you sign that and come with me, or you rot in your cell while creeping further and further into such a despair that, yes, they do find you hanging from your trouser ties in five years. Take your pick."

Looking at the paper, Malcolm considered his options. He could stay where he was, reading the entire prison library and avoiding all contact with anyone ever again. It was safe; no one wanted to bother him and there was no one around _to_ bother him. The only things he would truly miss were milestones of his niece's, and considering how many he had missed already that was nothing new.

…or, he could _leave_.

Malcolm picked up the pen and signed the document on the blank line, right above where his name had been printed. He passed it all back across the table and saw the woman smile for the first time, even if it was a thin, polite one.

"Welcome aboard," she said, standing up and holding out her hand. "My name is Kate Stewart, head of UNIT." He shook her hand and stood, wondering what was to happen next. Kate spun on her very orange heel and began to walk towards the door, taking all the papers with her. "Are you coming, Mister Tucker?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," he replied, slightly confused. "They're going to let me out? Just like that?"

"It's all settled—we just have to get you in some normal-looking clothes again." She walked out into the corridor, not even checking to see that Malcolm was following. A young woman was standing right before a set of double-doors, glancing down at a mobile as she adjusted her scarf. "Did you complete the wipe?"

"Yes ma'am; in two hours, they won't even remember any of us were here," the young woman replied. She looked over at Malcolm and held out her hand cheerily. "Osgood; nice to meet you, Mister Tucker."

"Charmed," he deadpanned, walking right past her hand. "So when do we get to the part where I don't have to babysit a bunch of mewling infants as they shit their pants and fucking spit up all over the rug?"

"Patience, Mister Tucker, patience," Kate replied calmly. She led him to the room where his suit and other effects were waiting for him. He changed quickly, never having thought that wearing a tie could feel so good, and grabbed what few possessions he had brought with him in his pockets—his wallet, the case for his eyeglasses, his watch, and his old security clearance badge. Were there ever the chance for him to get out, he wanted to be reminded of what had gotten him into the mess to begin with. Malcolm exited the room and followed the women out of the prison, _now_ sure that he felt the most relaxed in decades.

A driver ushered them into a car and began to maneuver his way back towards London. As soon as they entered city limits, Malcolm took his eyes off the passing scenery and glanced at his ride companions.

"So, tell me, what sort of dirty work do you need done that makes you bust a convicted felon like me out of jail for?" he asked, flashing his teeth.

"Our previous PR head has been proving to be less than stellar as of late," Kate explained. "Of course he was highly capable when he came on under Brigadier Bambera, but the times have changed and he has been unable to properly change with them." Osgood handed her another manila folder and she examined the contents as she continued to talk. "This does mean that we have been looking at not only your skills in media management and your connections, but your ability to adapt as well."

"That's some pretty big fucking talk for someone who still finds it necessary to horde tree carcasses like that," Malcolm chuckled, pointing at the papers. "I thought most of the government's gone paperless, or is at least on their way."

"Utilizing both low and high tech is going to be a daily part of your job for security reasons," Kate replied sharply. "If you don't like it, we can still turn around and take you back."

"Forgive me, _madam_ , but I don't think you remember the one photo you had in my dossier—the lack of security that comes with hard copies cost me my career."

"If our parents' generation could do it, we can as well; only difference is we know how to program a mobile as a bonus." Kate's face remained straight as she passed the manila envelope across the back of the car to Malcolm. "You'll have a variety of assigned tasks, most of which concern public relations and media wrangling. Sometimes there are disciplinary measures involved, and sometimes you'll be told to do menial tasks. All of us complete menial tasks now and then, just to make sure there's no discontent amongst the ranks. Fortunately for you, I need you as one of the Constants."

"Pardon?"

"Constants are people we don't mind-wipe," Osgood explained. "The three of us are Constants, as well as a couple others. We're the top of the chain and we need to have knowledge of past days' events."

"…is mind-wiping a _regular_ occurrence in this place?" Malcolm asked, raising his brows. "Sounds a bit too much like something a pisspot comic book villain would do if you ask me. I don't want to accidentally go back too far and start shitting my pants." He began to look through the folder contents—floor maps and lists of subordinate names. There was also a new security badge, which he clipped on over his old Whitehall one.

"For you? Only if you misbehave," Kate said, cracking the bare semblance of a grin. The car stopped and the three got out, the ladies leading Malcolm into a perfectly normal-looking building. It was plain sandstone, its most notable feature being there was nothing particularly beautiful or ugly about it; the man-behind-the-man's dream castle. They walked in, flashing their credentials to security before getting into a lift. Instead of pressing one of the floor buttons, Osgood swiped her keycard and a separate set of buttons slid out of the lift wall. She touched one and they plummeted with enough force for Malcolm to stagger slightly.

"Don't worry, you get used to it," Osgood said sympathetically. Eventually the lift stopped and the doors opened, allowing them exit.

"Welcome to UNIT, Mister Tucker," Kate said as she walked along at a brisk pace. Clearly she had brought him to the central hub, as the corridor opened up into a large, high-ceilinged hall where close to a hundred people were monitoring computer displays and even more were running about doing errands. "This is Mainframe UK, where we process all the local data for the North Atlantic and Western Europe."

Feeling very small and uncharacteristically speechless, Malcolm stared at the multitude of workers. "What sort of data?"

"Alien activity of the extraterrestrial kind," Kate replied. "Anything not of Earth or seemingly supernatural in origin we investigate and handle. You remember the cubes that fell from the sky a few years ago? The little black ones that tried to kill people?"

"Yeah, had one in my office; I was using it to teach this tit a lesson when the thing just fell like an old man," he said.

"That was the work of one of our top operatives—the deactivation, anyways." She kept on walking, with Osgood zooming off into the mess of people and leaving them alone. The two entered another lift, one that moved much slower than the first, and stepped out into a spacious office that overlooked the crowd below. "This is now where you work. As soon as we get hold of your personal belongings you can be escorted to your living quarters. I hope you find the place suitable."

Malcolm looked out the window down onto the dozens of people working below him. "So you're the Men in Black? Like X-Files and Star Trek rolled into one?" He had to strain to talk, too stunned to even swear. "I don't believe it."

"You have to, or we will make you," Kate reminded him. "Now come… I need to introduce you to your team before lunch."

A few more lifts and corridors later and Malcolm found himself staring at a group of six rather ragged-looking people, three men and three women. When he and Kate walked in they all stood at their desks and gave them their full attention.

"What is it, Director Stewart?" one of the women asked.

"You finally have your new boss," Kate replied. "I'd like you all to meet Malcolm Tucker, former Director of Communications for the PM. He starts immediately."

"With all due respect Director Stewart, but weren't you planning on hiring the new PR Head from within?" one of the men asked. He looked young, possibly the youngest one in the room. Kate calmly walked up to him, folding her hands behind her back.

"Are you _questioning me_ , Shaw?"

"I, uh…"

"If you had been hoping that you were going to apply for the position, I hate to say that you wouldn't even have been in the running. Blood only gets you so far in here, after all." She leaned forward slightly, just enough to make the man half a head higher shrink back. "You do want to do well in here on your own merit, correct?"

"Y-Yes ma'am."

"Then _shut up_ and greet your new department head with a smile," she said. Kate turned around brusquely and made for the door. "I leave them to you, Mister Tucker."

Malcolm, however, couldn't help but watch her leave. It had been quiet and clean but it was still one of the most artful bollockings he had seen in a while. He turned towards his team, unable to help the half a grin making his face lopsided.

"Alright, you heard the lady: you're in Tuckertown now, my little fetus-children, and you take a listen here. I saw where they keep the tea on the way in. I'm going to go and make myself the first fucking decent cuppa I've had in months and when I come back, you all are going to give me the projects you're working on so I can review them."

"Don't you want us to introduce ourselves?" one of the other women asked.

"I'll decide who deserves names around here, sunshine," he replied. "Now a cuppa, then I start on correcting your fuck-ups, got it?" Malcolm backed away, hands jammed deep into his pockets, and turned to leave the room. The grin on his face grew a bit wider as he found the tiny kitchenette just down the hall and began to rifle through it for things to make tea.

Maybe, he might be able to enjoy it here.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I never should have posted the first chapter without getting a few under my belt and doing the characterization legwork. Voi.

That being said, please don't take any of the details to heart. This is crossover crackship; we have no rules here.

* * *

 _Two_

Birdsong was what had woken Malcolm up, being that the sun had yet to rise and his alarm had not gone off. Opening his eyes a crack, he tilted his head and glanced out the window to look at the paling sky. A week ago he would have seen bars over his window, but now it was a pane that was clear and unobstructed by nothing but a rustling tree branch.

Getting out of bed, he showered, dressed, and downed a couple cups of coffee with his toast before leaving his flat. It was a change from his house, that was for certain, but it wasn't a downgrade by any means. It was spacious and located in a better-than-decent neighborhood. He was even allowed to have his family over for visits, and if his niece wanted to try to make something of herself in London she could stay with him (which had been the entire purpose behind having a house in the first place). Now he was a two minute walk to the Tube, had a gorgeous view of the city, and was permitted to come and go as he pleased.

The only issue was that it was closely monitored, "a requirement for all UNIT staff, Constants in particular," Osgood had explained when she brought him there. Apparently so was doing things such as eating and sleeping and returning to one's home every night, as there was always an agent that seemed to be around at work to remind him to do certain things. During his time in the Party, no one minded when he stayed at the office for a couple days or when he skipped a meal to stay on-task. It had been annoying at first, but he was beginning to grow used to it.

A half an hour later and Malcolm made his way into his office, where one of his subordinates was already waiting for his arrival. Shaw was a stringy, blond lad who was almost able to be considered bright. Unfortunately, he was also doing a very poor job of not riding the coattails of his family name, apparently, and it was enough to make him a jittery mess.

"Mister Tucker, sir, I've got that press release you wanted me to have by today," he said, holding out a stapled set of papers. Malcolm took it and gave the document a quick look-over, passing it back.

"This looks like you projectile-vomited a thesaurus," he glowered. "Rewrite it and have it back to me in three kicks of a robot's arse."

"…but…"

"We're convincing the public that some wankers didn't happen upon a colony of hibernating lizard people while demolishing an office building, not writing a persuasive essay on why it's acceptable to sodomize a donkey." He watched as Shaw retreated from the office, all sorts of frayed nerves, and sank into his chair to officially start the day.

As things had turned out, it was not much different being the head of UNIT Public Relations in comparison to Director of Communications for the Party. There were still floods of emails to wade through, pieces of shite to bollock, tea to drink, and occasionally there was a bright spot in the day where he wasn't completely going out of his mind (usually involving when he had to call up an old contact and scare the wits out of them). The only real difference was that he was learning rapidly about all things extraterrestrial in manner—and sometimes _ancient terrestrial_ —and how it seemed like far too many of them liked to converge on London and the United Kingdom in general at the most inopportune moments. He had remembered things here and there having happened, such as the attack-cubes and living mannequins and other things of that nature, but whenever he had to field a question on them he was _forced_ to make something up or gag the questioner with blackmail-like remarks. Now he knew why, and it was all just as well he was putting out the press releases.

It had taken Malcolm a few minutes to sift through his email—a couple procedural memos, the aftermath of something he wasn't around to handle on account of still being in prison, a snark-filled message from his niece—and his personal assistant came into the office. From the very moment they were introduced, Aparajita Khan had only been a consummate professional when it came to how she treated her new boss and his transition into the world he was now privy to, and yet at the same time her daily persona could have only been described as _icy_. She did not like him, which was fine; had he been given his choice in a PA he would have rescued Sam Cassidy from the clutches of that lurid supermarket CEO she had gone to work for after his thorough sacking from the Party, but considering she was only allowed to know he was alive and working out the rest of his sentence under the government's watchful eye… well… beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Did you remember your meeting today with Director Stewart?" Aparajita asked, flicking through files on her tablet.

"Of course—three o'clock, can't be late, about some sort of peace treaty between us and the lizard people. A debriefing, I assume?"

"Us and the _Silurians_ , and you are correct. You have to get better than that if you're going to last around here, quickly." She selected a file and brought it up on Malcolm's computer monitor, right over his email, and continued on. "One of the things we're going to need to go over today before the debriefing is the various encounters Earth has had with the Judoon…"

"Yes, yes, I know," he said, minimizing the window. The first time she had done that startled him, but now it was starting to get annoying. "Tell me: what do I need to know about the bipedal rhinoceroses in biker gear again, other than the fact they seem to have a better sense of justice than half of Parliament?" Aparajita pressed her lips together in a thin, disapproving line, refusing to answer. "They answer to a fucking _book_ in the most literal sense and have about enough brains amongst their entire species to go toe-to-toe with a primary student… again, which is better than half of Parliament on a good year…"

"Your comparisons don't amuse me, though I appreciate the restraint used on the more colorful terms," she frowned. "Is this another thing you wish to go over _in private_ before we let you loose for the day?"

Malcolm pondered the notion for a moment and nodded. "Yes. Hey, do you think you can get an intern on some tea? I think we both need it."

"Right away, sir." With that she left, leaving her boss to shudder in the cold breeze that followed.

' _One of these days I'll convince her that I'm not her enemy_ ,' he thought. Not fighting with one's personal assistant was generally advisable, since it was always hell trying to make sure the closest coworker wasn't in backstabbing mode (as he had done a couple times before hiring Sam what felt like oh-so-long ago). Otherwise, he really couldn't care less.

The rest of the morning went about as well as Malcolm had assumed it would. Shaw came back in twice to get his draft approved, tea had come, he read up on the Judoon as promised, and even ate his lunch. He was nearly done when his assistant came back in to hand him a stack of papers filed in various manila dividers.

"Did you go over what you were supposed to?" she asked.

" _Yes_ ," he replied, adding a slight edge to his voice. It was almost as if he was a fucking child. Once he had some idea as to which cactus-face was which and the proper names for galaxies, he would get his footing and no one would _dare_ treat him like that. "How'd the press release go over?"

"Director Stewart approved it and it's queued for release in a couple hours," Aparajita said. "Though speaking of, she stopped me in the hall earlier—she wants to see you at your earliest convenience."

"Oh?" he wondered, eyebrows arching as he peeled the rind off a satsuma. "What does the boss-lady have to talk to me about that can't wait until three?"

"She didn't say, just that she needed to have a word in-person; we were walking in differing directions at the time."

"Fair enough. Her office is the floor above, yeah?"

"Correct. If you need me for anything, you have my mobile number."

With that, Malcolm was off, headed up the lift to the highest floor the lift would service. Kate's personal assistant, a mousy young woman who never seemed to be able to string a sentence together to his face, directed him towards something called the Archive, where the Scientific Director apparently was going to be until quarter till three. He politely thanked her—no use in scaring the help as long as they were helpful—and went in the direction of the Archive.

It took a couple wrong turns and a few growled orders to some snarky young pups before he finally found the Archive. It was more a warehouse than anything, and felt very out of place with the rest of the underground labyrinth's light taupe walls and brushed steel doors. He caught sight of her right away: she was taking notes on a clipboard and muttering to herself.

"Oi, Stewart, I was told you needed to see me?"

Kate looked up from her clipboard and watched as Malcolm crossed the room. He walked right by shelves upon shelves of tech that would make just about anyone else stare and gawk and who knows all what else. Instead, he directly approached her, hands in his pockets and half a smirk on his face.

"Who sent you?" she asked.

"Khan…" He saw the way she went back to her papers and grumbled, throwing his arms up in the air. "Fucking fuck that… hazing."

"That's what it looks like," she shrugged. "She was fond of your predecessor, if I'm not mistaken. Stay here a while and cool off—that'll confuse her enough to where she won't do it again."

Malcolm grunted in agreement, shoving his hands back in his pockets. He silently observed Kate as she made check marks and notes on the handwritten paper. "So, what are you doing?"

"Inventory."

"One of those 'occasional menial tasks' I was warned about?"

"The very same."

Silence settled down between them and Malcolm started to get antsy. He glanced around; the room didn't seem like anything special to him. It was mainly crates, boxes, stored on shelves made of metal and plywood, and some things sitting on their own in glass-encased plinths over to the side. Something vaguely car-shaped sat in the very back, draped in a cloth that hid its true form from view. Pacing, he gave some of the visible things a good look-over. Some of the plinths held odd-looking firearms, or sharp things that looked they'd cause a very painful prodding, but there were a few that held perfectly ordinary items.

"So you've got some interesting shit here, don't you?" he wondered aloud.

"Bits and bobs from around the galaxy, mainly, though some is from Earth in make," she replied, voice dull and monotonous. It was clear that Kate was bored, but she knew things had to get done. "I take inventory bit by bit, and usually, if things go well, I can clear the warehouse in a year. Since the treaty went over better than expected, I figured I'd fill the spare time getting a jump on things here; the days when my father could do it all in a month are gone, I'm afraid."

"What, can't you pitch it all in the recycling or set up a charity shop?"

"With the kind of stuff that's in here? Not likely." She turned to face Malcolm so that she could begin explaining the finer points of artifact archival (something that she was very much a forerunner in, not to mention the fact that she was readying some of the items for storage in the highest-tech storage systems known, both terrestrial and extraterrestrial in manner), when she noticed that her new PR head was handling a wristwatch-like object that he _definitely_ should not have been touching. Dropping her papers and pen, her face blanched in panic as she tried to figure out what to do.

"You alright?" he asked, looking up at the sound of the clipboard hitting the metal floor. "Why are you staring at me like I'm Sid Vicious risen from the grave?"

"Tucker, I need you to put that back where you got it," Kate said, her tone slow and deliberate. She reached out cautiously, trying not to alarm him. It wasn't his fault he knew nothing about what anything in the storage level was capable of, least of all the more harmless-looking things, the ones that were most dangerous. "That is _very dangerous_ and is on its way to a high-security vault."

"It's just a watch—is this something they whipped up after seeing a Bond film? Wrist-held radar?"

"No, Tucker, just put it down, don't touch that screen—DON'T TOUCH THAT SCREEN!"

It was too late. Malcolm pressed the screen of the device just as Kate grabbed his wrist. Both of them felt a slight tug in their chests and vanished into thin air. When the two of them finally came to their senses they were standing in the middle of a dirt road, horse-drawn carriages swerving all around them and rain pouring from the sky in torrents. Malcolm swore angrily the entire trek through traffic, dodging hooves and wheels until they were in the relative safety of a stone walkway.

"What the _fucking hell_ just happened?!" he gasped as they stood there, soaked to the skin in mud and rain. Kate examined her trousers—ruined—and grabbed the device from his hand. It was whirring and sparking, signaling that it was being damaged by the weather.

"When I tell you not to touch something, _don't touch something_ ," she hissed, making him cower slightly. "This is a vortex manipulator, and we just space-and-time travelled."

For having rarely been left speechless in his twenty-seven year career pre-prison sentence, Malcolm was finding himself stunned into silence with increased frequency since being released into UNIT custody.

"We… _what_ …?"

Keeping her voice low and level, Kate narrowed her glare. "Space and time; this is not my archive and I doubt we'll get a signal on our mobiles for another two centuries." She saw him blink rapidly and begin to fidget, signs that he was trying to devise a route to talk his way out of everything. Considering his job in spin had nothing to do with actually interacting with what he was trying to disguise with his language of smoke and mirrors, he had little ground on which to stand, and even less when it came to actual-excuse cobbling. "Now we're who-knows-where, during who-knows-when, in a rainstorm, with a _broken vortex manipulator that should have only enough power for one person_."

She turned on her heel, not checking to make sure that Malcolm was following close behind. If there was any time to turn to that grinning idiot of a Doctor for a favor, it was now.

"Wait, wait, wait… a _what_ manipulator?!" he asked, trying to keep pace with her.

" _Vortex_ , as in the _time vortex_ … you know what? I just don't have the patience for this right now… aw, **_fuck_**." Kate stumbled slightly and stared at the cobblestone a few feet behind them. There, stuck between two rocks, was her left heel. She kicked off her shoes to abandon them, dropping down a couple inches until her head was just past Malcolm's nose. "We need a pub."

"Um, why…?"

"…because I need a sodding drink, that's why."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Malcolm found himself maneuvering through a pub with a bottle of whisky in one hand and two glasses in the other. The regulars were all staring at him in his grey suit while they wore beaten frock coats and high boots. He eventually found where Kate had sat, soaking wet and shoeless, in a booth shoved in the corner by a window.

"I can't believe you just happened to have some Regency-era money on you," he said as he sat down and poured her a drink. Kate slammed it back and shuddered as she enjoyed the warmth that was pooling in her stomach.

"Since Osgood accidentally launched herself into the War of the Roses, I've been making it a habit to keep an emergency supply of things on me whenever I go into the Archive," she explained. She took the small clutch out of her inner breast pocket and reached her hand in much farther than she should have been able to, pulling out a kerchief that she wiped off her smudged makeup on. "Once the rain stops and we get our bearings, I can concentrate on getting us out of here."

"Since the Prince Regent isn't Hugh Laurie, I've no idea how you expect to get us back to the Silicon Age."

"It's just a matter of getting hold of the right people," Kate said plainly. She poured herself another drink, which she just sipped, and frowned at the label on the bottle. "Pity; this was the only whisky they had?"

"Barman swore on it."

"If the Clearances weren't going on, I'd say we should make a quick stop northward and get something halfway decent." She glanced out the window and nodded. "Come on, Tucker. The rain's stopped and we need to get going."

"With you barefoot? You sure you don't have emergency trainers in that fucking creepy Mary Poppins bag of yours?"

"No, but all we need to do is get to a park, so it won't be long." Kate stood and corked the bottle, stuffing it in her clutch and putting it away. "Let's go."

"Wait a tic," he said as he slid out of the booth. Malcolm walked over to one of tables and gave the occupants his best grin. "Hey there, mates. Can anyone tell me if there's a place nearby we can get my lady-friend there a pair of shoes? Hers broke and…"

"Go find 'im yourself," the nearest patron sneered.

Rolling his eyes, Malcolm took a deep breath before leaning down close to the man's ear, keeping his teeth bare and his glare intense. "So you're going to hand over yours then, hmm? Because I really can't let her go walking around in that disgusting vat out there of muck you ancient fops call a street and I sure as fuck can't carry her all the way we need to go." The man looked at him as if he was speaking French.

"Are you out of your bleeding mind? Why would I give you my boots?"

Kate watched from over by the booth, wondering with a dry sense of curiosity what Malcolm was saying to the man. He whispered something in his ear and suddenly the patron's face went sheet-white before hurriedly taking off his boots. Malcolm took them with a nod and brought them over to her with a smirk on his face.

"What did you say?" she asked, hesitating to take the footwear.

"Just thank your lucky stars that Wee Malcolm had an interest in reading about the grim and gruesome events of Old London Town," he replied. He watched as she slipped into the boots; they were too big and came over her knees, but they stayed on. "Couple murders happened not long ago that the press bled to death—giving him a few of the more details was enough."

"You threatened a man so I could have shoes?"

"You're my ticket home, so unless I want to die before Vicky takes the throne I better make sure you're treated like a fucking queen."

"Well said," she said, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. The two then walked out the pub with no problem whatsoever, the other patrons too stunned to even move.

A short while later the two walked into a park. It was fairly deserted thanks to the rain that had been pouring until recently, making it so that Kate made the executive decision that it was the perfect place.

"Perfect for what?" Malcolm asked as he watched his boss dig through her clutch. She was in past her elbow before she let out an accomplished chuckle and pulled out a pen.

"Spacecraft landing—the Doctor's not always the best pilot," she said. Kate then pressed a button on the side of the pen and held it high above her head. It whirred and glowed a pale green at the tip. She brought it down as the wind picked up and a wheezing sound began to crank through the air. A blue police box materialized in front of them, which Malcolm wished was the weirdest thing he had witnessed in the past week.

"Kate! Funny to find you here!" a young man smiled as he walked out of the police box. He gave her a hug and then turned to Malcolm, who scowled in return. "Oh, you look new."

"Been on the job a week—the reason why I'm here in the first place," Kate said. "Doctor, this is Malcolm Tucker. Malcolm, this is the Doctor. He's our best and longest-served agent."

"Pleased to meet you Mister Tucker; big fan of your work," the Doctor said. Malcolm wasn't sure what to make of the young man before him in tweed and a waistcoat that was shaking his hand. He looked into his eyes and saw instantly that there was something more to this Doctor character, something that gave credence to his supposed length of service.

"You are? Didn't know I had admirers."

"Could do well with cleaning up your language, but work with the image you've cultivated I suppose… though I thought they put you away…"

"I was released early, if that's what you mean," Malcolm bristled.

"Oh, don't think I'm judging you; I break my wife in and out of prison all the time. It's really nothing to worry about." The Doctor slung his arm over Malcolm's shoulders and led the man back towards the police box. "Now, let's just get the two of you to your proper time and place and we'll be all set."

"But how the fuck are you going to do that? The thing that got us here is… fried…"

As soon as Malcolm entered the TARDIS, his eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. He spun around with a chill shaking his entire body.

"It's… it's…"

"A pocket dimension," the Doctor grinned as he threw the ship into the vortex. "I'd explain the math if you'd like."

"Mister Tucker is a spin doctor, not a scientific doctor," Kate quipped. She sat down and began to switch out her borrowed boots for a pair of heels the TARDIS had made for her. "Thanks for picking us up."

"The least I could do for one of my favorite Stewarts," the Doctor replied. He fiddled with some switches and levers and the TARDIS ground to a halt. "Here we are! Your stop."

"Your services are appreciated, as always, Doctor," Kate said as she began walking towards the door. The Doctor cut her off, however, blocking her exit.

"First, you're going to tell me _how_ you two suddenly found yourself as temporal fish out of water," he said. Kate took the clutch from her pocket and dug out the vortex manipulator.

"We thought it was busted, but apparently not," she said. "Should be now though, considering the rain." The Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver and scanned it—completely shorted out.

"Then it's a good thing you didn't toss it in with the rubbish, now isn't it?" he said. He held out his hand and Kate put the vortex manipulator in it begrudgingly. The Doctor then opened the door for her, allowing her leave. He glanced over at Malcolm, who was still gawking at the ceiling of the console room. "Are you going too, Mister Tucker, or is this telling me you would fancy a trip?"

Snapping out of his stupor, Malcolm furrowed his brow as he went back into work mode. "No—get me out of this fucking thing," he scowled as he stomped to the door. He didn't even look back as he heard the door shut and the TARDIS wheeze out of sight. Fuming the entire way to his office, all he had was a glare to greet his personal assistant with as he came out of the lift.

"Been gone a long time," Aparajita noted casually. "It's almost five." She saw the fire in her boss's eyes, yet was distracted by his suit that was still damp from the rain. "Did you have a dip in the Thames while you were out?"

"If it were up to me, your self-important arse would be sacked quicker than a punk can drop acid," he snapped. He stormed into the main of his office and slammed the door behind him.

Once Malcolm was sure Aparajita had left for the day, he whipped out his mobile and looked up a number, waiting with bated breath as it rung.

" _Hello?_ " answered a voice. It was young and female—just the person he wanted to hear.

"Hey, Lex, you got a minute?"

" _Uncle Malc! I've been trying to reach you for hours! Where were you!_ "

Grimacing, he made a mental note to write down a list of apologetic lies for later and brushed off the worry in her voice. "Sorry sweetheart. It must have been the building I was in—built right after the War and meant to withstand two more and some nukes fueled by vodka and borscht, you know?"

" _Oh, I see. Hey, we still on for next weekend? I was just confirming."_

"Of course, of course," Malcolm replied. "Can't miss out on seeing you without bullet-proof glass between us; it's what uncles are for."

" _Awesome_ ," Lex chuckled. " _Well then, what's going on… other than the fact your new job is in want of a few building updates?_ "

"I need to ask a favor of you—a coworker had a particularly bad day today and she's one of the ones worth worrying over. What's something little that won't make me look like a prat? I actually don't want to scare this one half to death."

" _What, are you after her or something?_ "

"No!" Malcolm groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed; he could _hear_ the smirk on the little shit's face. "It's just… I want to do something _nice_ , but not _too nice_ , and you know better than I do how to do that."

" _Have flowers delivered anonymously_ ," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Can't—don't know her home address and the building we work at is under very strict regulations."

" _Huh… okay… do you know what she likes to eat?_ "

 _'…aside from single-malt whisky, no_ ,' he thought. "No, not really."

" _Chocolates are a safe bet; even if someone's allergic, it's the gesture that counts. There's some that are really popular right now. I can't pronounce the name, but I can send you a link_."

"…and me getting them isn't weird or anything?"

" _Not at all. What, did you fuck up something?_ "

"Yeah… your old uncle really took it up the arse this time." He ran his fingers through his hair—a nervous habit he was doing more as of late. "Listen, tell Granny I say hello and keep this under wraps, alright? I don't want your mam getting the wrong idea."

"You can count on me. See you later."

"See you." He hung up the mobile and let it drop to the wooden desktop. It was time to do what Malcolm Tucker never, ever did—it was time to grovel.

* * *

Seven o'clock and Mainframe UK was virtually empty. The night shift was on, though it was a skeleton crew in comparison to the daytime employees. Kate took advantage of the quiet by leaning back in her desk chair and silently nursing down a drink. Three in one day was earned this time around, she figured, and her limit was considerably higher. She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily—time travel was not her cup of tea.

The door opened and a voice cut through the serenity of the moment. "Director Stewart?"

"What is it _now_ , Tucker?" she groaned. Kate opened her eyes and watched Malcolm advance further into her office, a shopping bag in-hand and a concerned expression on his face.

"Is that the swill you took from the pub earlier?" he asked.

"Private stock; my father laid it down," she explained. "What are you doing here? You should be home by now."

"I know, but…" Malcolm put the bag down on the desk and took a step backwards. "For you."

"What's this?" Kate asked. He shrugged in reply.

"It's an apology, and I thought you'd need something of a pick-me-up after getting tossed back in time by my stupidity. My niece, um, she suggested them." Picking up the bag, she looked inside and pulled out a small box of chocolates. "Apparently they're trendy right now; Belgian. I wouldn't know though—the tapes usually don't mention foodstuffs unless it's a fad diet."

"Uh, thank you," Kate said quietly. Malcolm nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets before leaving. Once he was gone, she opened the box and carefully nibbled on one, not wanting to overpower her whisky. It _was_ delicious.

' _Well, at least he has some sense to admit when he's wrong_ ,' she thought. ' _Maybe the Wolf of Whitehall is trainable after all_.'


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So holy wah brainstorming happened, hence why this update is within a month of the previous one. Now let's hope I don't run out of steam.

* * *

 _Three_

Malcolm waited patiently along the wall of the station, his hands jammed in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. The whole sitting around until something happened game was never his strong suit. He tried though, especially for the important people, and the one he was waiting for was definitely important.

Once he saw her, his face lit up and he grinned happily. His adult niece, Alexandra, emerged from the crowd of commuters and approached him silently, burying her face in his grey fleece pullover as they hugged. At twenty-three, there were significantly less height-related surprises to come along with her, but now it was more a matter of her hair being all chopped off and a few shades lighter than her natural dark brown. Last time he had seen her, her hair was past her shoulders and had stripes of color best described as various flavors of candy floss.

"There's my girl," Malcolm choked, his voice low. "It's been too long since I last saw you—hey, thanks for cleaning out my house for me. I owe you and what's-his-name a favor."

"What's-his-name and I broke up while you were packed away, so you owe him nothing—I thought I told you that," she replied with a chuckle. Pulling away, she gently punched his shoulder. "Let's get back to your place before the waterworks start; thought you can't have any of that in public."

"Times have changed, Lex," he said, taking her duffel bag and slinging it across his shoulder. "You know how I was positioned to where no one could fuck me?"

"Not for long, anyway," she added as they walked out the door and into the London streets. "Something about your arse growing fangs… that's honestly one of my favorites. Used it on a chav a couple months ago and he about wet himself."

"First, that definitely makes me proud," Malcolm replied. "Second, that doesn't matter anymore. They can't fuck me even if they _tried_. Provided I don't fuck up too bad, I've got immunity."

"Oooh, _nice_ ," Lex whistled. She and her uncle made their way towards the Underground and hopped aboard. Long ago there had come a "Silence Agreement", where provided the two of them were together on public transport, they'd stay quiet to the point it nearly appeared that they didn't know one another. It was first enacted when he was in Whitehall and she was a young teen, due to a pap that was known for riding the Tube and could pick out a target from three cars down. A high-ranking member of the Opposition had been nailed for soliciting favors from an underage girl, and it had been Malcolm's saving grace that _the PM himself_ knew about his niece beforehand, down to having met her for a nanosecond a few years back at that point. Since then it had been a precaution, in case another photographer with a short attention span happened on by them, since at least when they would happen out to do something in public, chances are they weren't holding any luggage and were someplace perfectly family-friendly.

They got off at the appropriate stop and Lex wordlessly followed Malcolm back towards his new flat block. It was only once they were in the building and waiting for the lift did Lex say anything else.

"Wow… and to think you having a London house was swank," she nodded, impressed. "This certainly is a change of pace from a bit ago, isn't it?"

"I'd rather have this flat than my previous one," he snorted. The lift doors opened and they entered, going up to his floor. "Would you believe some tosser tried to make me his bitch? I thought that only happened in American prison movies."

"You'd be surprised at the bollocks that passes for entertainment over there," Lex said. They stepped out of the lift and Malcolm allowed her access to his flat. It was spacious, as far as flats went, with whitewashed walls and a large, open area that melded from sitting area to dining room to kitchen. A small hallway went off towards the inside of the building, with a couple doors in-sight before curving off behind the kitchen and out of view. The young woman was struck speechless as she spun around and silently took it all in.

"Rethinking that offer of a place to crash for graduate school?" her uncle smirked. "It's not the house, but…"

"Let me get accepted first— _then_ we'll talk," she replied, letting out a little laugh. Putting down her backpack, she went to a window and looked out at the view. "This place must cost a _fortune_."

"It's equipped with a fuck-ton of surveillance bullshit, since one of the terms of my release is my employers being able to keep color-coded tabs on me," Malcolm explained. "This was the only place available, and it's on their dime."

"Then maybe Granny was wrong and you _don't_ work for a bunch of wanks," Lex said. Her uncle furrowed his brow at her.

"What did your Granny say…?" he wondered.

"Oh, just that this UNIT place you're in now is just historically governed by a ' _bunch of international wanks that piss about while occasionally muttering about alien nonsense and performing occasional military operations in Wales_ '."

"…yeah, that sounds like your Granny," Malcolm sighed. "You have to remember though that Mam last worked for the government in the early Sixties—since then barbed wire became a wall that went up and was torn down and we can go holidaying in St. Petersburg if that's what we wanted." He went towards the hallway, dragging Lex along behind him. They went around the bend and he showed her to the guest room, now her room, tossing her duffle on the bed. There was a bed, a desk, a nightstand, and a wardrobe, all in oak, with the same white walls as the rest of the flat and white-and-grey bedding. "It's a bit bare, but I think you can make do."

"I made do with a camp bed, some plastic crates, and stepladder for three months; I can deal with this for a weekend," she said. He left her alone to unpack and went back to the sitting room, his turn to look out the window at the view. It was a lovely view, if he did say so, with just enough sky and buildings and tree branches to make it nearly feel cozy. The door to the guest room closed and Malcolm turned around, watching Lex cross the length of the flat.

"Alright, what do you feel like doing?" he asked as she vaulted over the back of the couch and landed on the cushions. "We've got all of London at our feet and for once I'm not on-call in case some high-roller gets caught on camera with his cock hanging out."

"Oh, I don't know… got any good gossip?" Lex grinned. "How are things between you and that lady you got the chocolates for? Any improvements?"

"She's perfectly fine as far as I know; how's your da? Hear from the louse lately?" he asked, shutting her down. She slumped back into the couch and folded her arms over her chest in irritation.

"When was the last time _you_ heard from _your_ dad?" she groused. Malcolm raised his eyebrow at her in a sly manner.

"There we are—now what do you want to do _other_ than gossip?"

"Some of my mates told me about some exhibits they saw last time they were down, if those are still running," Lex mused. She was attempting to think of something else when Malcolm's mobile began to chirp in his pocket. He checked it: _Osgood_.

"Just a sec; it's work," he apologized. He swiped the call to answer and held it up to his ear. "Fuck off, Scarfy—I've got company."

' _I don't care_ ,' Osgood said cheerily. ' _You've got to come down and change the batteries in the ravens. They're a bit sluggish_.'

"You need me to _what_?" Malcolm snapped into the mobile. "Let me tell you something, young lady: I am nobody's fucking fetch dog. Have one of your forsaken interns do it."

' _Not my orders_ ," Osgood sang. Her voice was smug—too smug for comfort.

"I'm on my weekend off, entertaining my niece. How would you feel if you hadn't seen your niece in two years and once you suddenly could, without some uniformed wanker breathing down her neck, you get called into work?"

 _'I don't have a niece_ ,' she replied simply. Malcolm put the mobile to his chest and rolled his eyes.

"Sorry kiddo—some upstart shite at work is trying to yank your ol' uncle's chain."

"Hasn't learned to keep out of your way yet?" Lex giggled. Her uncle scowled and held up a finger to silence her. He pressed a button and put the call on speakerphone.

"Alright Osgood, you give me one good reason why I have to take the time to go all the way down there just to tend to some overpriced lawn ornaments when all you have to do is tell some brain-dead little twat from IT to do the same and they'll be more than happy to between their Tesco run and sobbing lunchtime wank in the loo."

'… _because I said so_ ,' replied Kate's voice. Malcolm's face went blank as he processed what had just happened. ' _See you in about half an hour?_ '

"Forty minutes—there's that match today that's going to clog the Tube and I'll be bollocked if I can't get in a train the first time."

' _Thanks so very much. See you within the hour, Malcolm._ _ **Ta**_.'

The call cut off and the mobile emitted a dull dialtone. Malcolm turned off the speaker and locked the screen, turning his sitting room into an awkward miasma of silence.

"So… I take it that wasn't Osgood?" Lex assumed.

"No; that was the boss—I have to go," he muttered, pocketing his mobile. He grabbed his keys and headed towards the front door. "I shouldn't be more than an hour. How about we go get some dinner after this, yeah? Still on that Thai kick or do you like something else?"

"Wow Uncle Malc… I didn't think you were the type," she replied. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What type? The Thai food type? The type to dote upon his niece-but-might-as-well-be-daughter?"

"The type to go after your boss; I thought you swore off workplace relationships after Kelly."

Malcolm's face blanched, then his ears turned red, and a scowl spread across his face. "Alexandra, you _better_ come up with a good fucking reason I don't ship you back to Marcia the moment I get home." He then left in a fluster, slamming the door behind him.

"Huh… that reaction's improved," Lex mused aloud. She turned back so that she sat on the couch properly and turned on the telly. There was no reason to think of anything to keep her here—he always bristled at the mention of exes and the two hours it'd likely take for him to get to work and back would be enough time for him to scare enough belligerent youths for him to be more than happy to let her finish visiting through the weekend.

* * *

Thirty-seven minutes later and Malcolm came storming into Mainframe UK, a takeaway tea in-hand and a sneer slapped across his face. He glanced up in the atrium at the window he knew to be Kate's office. She was standing by the glass while on the phone, giving him a wave as he glowered off, a grey Glasgow storm in the heart of London.

Getting into the lift that went to his office, Malcolm rode it all the way to the top, angrily sipping his tea. He stepped out in the reception area and ignored the weakly-protesting personal assistant to barge into Kate's office, standing there with one hand jammed in his pocket and the other concentrating on keeping his tea from shaking in his ire. Kate held up a hand to keep him at bay and continued concentrating on her conversation.

"Right, so I will see you in a couple weeks then," she said. A pause. "Okay then dear; listen, I've got to go deal with one of the new guys. Lots of love." Kate then hung up the desk phone and sat down, folding her hands over her closed notebook computer with a smirk. "Yes, Mister Tucker?"

"Kate, love, why am I standing here?" Malcolm asked from behind his tea. He lowered it as menacingly as possible, baring his teeth in a snarl.

"You haven't done anything 'menial' for a while, so I thought it was about your turn," she replied snarkily. "Besides, it's Friday, early afternoon. You should be here."

"I've had this scheduled for ages," he snapped, pointing at her with his tea hand. " _You_ approved it yourself."

"Your niece is perfectly capable of entertaining herself for a couple hours if my information is reliable," Kate said. "She _did_ get rid of that ridiculous hair color, didn't she? I was hoping that part was correct because I'd really hate to see her unemployable due to something as trivial as…"

"I don't know what game you're playing, but _stop it_ ," Malcolm growled, cutting her off. His nostrils flared and his hand came out of his pocket to clench and flex in anger. "Stay away from my niece and my sister; it's your fault if you cross my mam, but don't take me away from my family again unless it's absolutely necessary, you hear? If you don't, I will make your life Hell."

"Malcolm, I know what it's like to be taken away from your kid when you have plans," she said calmly. "I have two, and better yet: they're ones I gave birth to and won custody over and raised often on my own. Alexandra will survive."

"That's because a _Tucker_ survives," he hissed. He turned on his heel and stomped off, not wanting to hear another word. Down the lift, out into the corridor, and away he glowered.

With tea gone and cup disposed of by the time he found the tech corridor, Malcolm felt only nominally calmer once he reached the Raven Room. He had switched out the batteries before, so he didn't need instructions to hit the button on the wall and start to grab a couple of spare power packs from their chargers sitting on a shelving unit. A vent in the top of the ceiling opened and one by one a flock of ravens came fluttering down onto the table in the center of the room. They hopped about a little and twitched, but as soon as Malcolm clucked his tongue twice they all froze in place and their heads halved at the joint of the beak, opening up to reveal their internal batteries.

"C'mere, Rab," he nodded, beckoning one of the birds over. Power pack still exposed, it bounced over and allowed him to switch out the old for the new, which he put separate from the ones that still needed to be installed. After carefully snapping the raven's head back in place, he stroked its back and watched as it fluttered towards the other side of the table. "Alright, who's next? Alba? Eustace? Ken? Flossie?"

"Good thing I'm not on speaking terms with much of the old crowd, or they'd have a juicy email to read in about twenty minutes," a voice laughed. Malcolm jumped, nearly dropping a battery in shock. He shot a glare over towards the door and saw Glenn Cullen standing there, snickering at him from behind a yogurt.

"For fuck's sake—I thought they put you out to pasture after the Inquiry," Malcolm cursed. Glenn stepped casually into the room and stood next to his old workplace bully, looking at the automated ravens curiously.

"Which one's Ken?" he asked. "…and Flossie? Why'd you name one Flossie?"

"You don't fuck with a Flossie; it's common sense." Malcolm took a small step away and continued switching out battery packs. "So, aren't you going to explain yourself or am I going to have to bollock some poor interns until I get some answers?"

"Good to see you again too," the older man deadpanned. "What's the one with the chip in his beak paint and a shattered eye called?"

"Malcolm Junior—that one got in a scuff with a cat—now seriously, am I being visited by the fucking Ghost of Careers Past or…?"

"My nose still throbs when I come within arm's length of you, so it's definitely me," Glenn replied. He shrugged noncommittally and continued eating his yogurt. "I was out of work about a week when Director Stewart approached me about coming to work here. They made me head of Data Management, if you'll believe it."

"Not sure I do, no," Malcolm said flatly. He shut a bird's head and scratched it beneath the beak absentmindedly. "You survived with your reputation intact, so why didn't you just leave for good?"

"…because they needed me," Glenn said. He glanced over at Malcolm, who had raised an eyebrow at him, and turned back to the mechanical birds. "It's pretty nice, this being relied on stuff. Now I'm a Constant, I have subordinates, my opinion is actually considered to have value… they took this old dog in and made him feel like a pup again."

"I hope that's only in the metaphorical sense."

"Purely." Glenn tossed his empty yogurt cup in the trash bin and continued examining the ravens. "Since I had been part of the plain-view political word for so long, Director Stewart actually asks me from time to time who we should keep an eye on, who we should try to recruit. Might be a bit haughty of me, but I will admit to even suggesting a jail break to get a hold of a prospect."

Malcolm stopped moving, dead battery in one hand and a raven in the other. "You…? _You_ were the agent that gave me a ' _glowing recommendation_ '…?"

"We needed someone who commanded an air of authority, that got the job done no matter the cost. Who else could I have pointed her towards? Olly? That little prat will sting you the moment you turn around."

"Sounds about accurate," he agreed. Malcolm pointed out one of the ravens waiting to be tended to and quietly said, "That's Cullen."

"A little molted there, isn't he?"

"No more than you are."

Silence fell between the two men and a minute passed, unspoken.

"See you around, Malcolm," Glenn finally said. "I've got some work to do."

"Yeah." He stood in silence as the former aide left. Once the sound of footsteps could no longer be heard in the hall, Malcolm clucked his tongue again. "Cullen, c'mere. If I won't replace your brain, no one will."

* * *

A/N: With this, I'm going to place the Glenn Cullen and OC character tags on the story, because I need to do so.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This one feels like it took ages despite not so yeah apologies.

* * *

 _Four_

Malcolm groaned as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling; very little had happened all week, which caused a distinct lull in the hustle and bustle that he thrived on. Things were calm and quiet, like a shop before its big holiday sale, and he didn't like it one iota.

"Rajit, what do you do when there's nothing _to do_?" he asked, raising his voice so his personal assistant could hear in her section of the office. "I get this means we've done our jobs well, but a little too well doesn't sit right."

"That's not my name," Aparajita said dully. Malcolm suspected she was playing some game on her mobile just to avoid him. "Rajit is my cousin… my decidedly _male_ cousin."

"Tell that to the name Ashley—it doesn't know what's going on anymore." He was trying with her, he really was, in his effort to get her to warm up a bit. There were worse uphill battles, he supposed. Glancing at the clock, he held in a groan realizing it was only three, prompting a rapid-fire text.

' _Save me—PA a fucking bore –Malc_ '

Not even two minutes passed and his phone chirped in a demand to be answered. He picked it up, barking "Yeah?"

' _Go on, have a shout and pretend like this is an actual emergency_ ,' Glenn said, boredom apparent in his own voice. Malcolm then stood up briskly, furrowing his brows.

"What?! I can't leave you soggy cunts alone for two fucking days without things going to shambles?" he snapped. "Stay right there and you better _pray_ I can get you out of this mess." He quickly rushed over towards the lift, slamming the button to open it. "Gotta take care of this fuck-up real quick; might see you later."

"It's about time you got something," Aparajita said. Her tone told him she wasn't convinced, and he didn't even look back before the lift doors closed on him.

"Fuck, that was close; thanks," Malcolm exhaled. He drew his hand over his face, coming to rest along his jaw. "Nothing gets by her."

' _Well, she's damn good at her job. No one can fool Rajit Khan and get away with it_.'

Malcolm blinked in surprise. "How do you know what I just tried to call her?"

' _That's what your predecessor called her—served alongside her granddad in the Gurkhas or something like that. Never did get the full story, now that I think about it. Hey, are you coming over? I'll put the kettle on if so_.'

"I'll take a raincheck on that—I just want to get out of here since half the staff seems to be keeling over of the fucking Plague." He dodged a coughing IT member and ducked into the atrium. "I almost feel like calling in tomorrow whether I catch this damn bug or not—shit, there's one of my staff. Keep it oiled, sunshine." He pocketed the mobile without waiting for Glenn to answer as a hefty woman, closer to fifty than forty, ran up to him from across the way. "This better be good, Beresford, if you're risking rupturing several internal sacs at once."

"There's been a crash-landing out in Lincolnshire," she informed him between gasping breaths. "Rutan—non-hostile, dead well before impact—and we can't reach Commander Stewart!"

Malcolm's eyebrow quirked up, a mixture of intrigue and worry spreading across his face. "Why not?"

"She went home after lunch because she wasn't feeling well. I think the virus that's been going around got to her too."

"For fuck's sake… _where_ in Lincolnshire?"

"On a farm, just outside the Wolds, but there's no one with the security clearance to go mop things up! They're all out sick!" By now she had caught her wind and looked significantly less like she was going to die. "This is the first emergency I've seen like this—I've only been here a month longer than you."

"So you think you'd know the drill by now." Malcolm snapped his fingers and pointed towards one of the seemingly-healthy-looking people on a computer monitor. "Hey, moleman, what sort of cleanup crew we have that can take care of something that's dead but also…?"

"Rutan," Beresford clarified.

"Yeah, that."

The man tapped on the keyboard in front of him and squinted at the results. "We have a recon team specializing in hostile extraterrestrial forces; I'd go with them, since where there's a Rutan, dead or alive, there's a good chance a Sontaran's not far behind."

"The talking tatties with a hard-on for war?"

"Uh… yes, sir?"

"Good. Who has to hit the button to scramble them?"

"Director Stewart, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, she's puking her guts out with the rest of staff. Who the fuck do I see to override normal protocol?"

"Ah… ummm…" The man pointed in the direction of a series of empty chairs, the entire cluster out. Malcolm growled and took the monitor man by the shoulder of his shirt, dragging him over to the necessary console and tossing him into it.

"Override normal protocol; authorization code: Canmore."

"…b-but, sir…!"

Leaning over, Malcolm got within an inch of the man and narrowed his eyes. "What's the use of being Intergalactic Big Brother if we can't override our own fucking system?" He dropped his voice low and curled his upper lip into a sneer. "Do it."

The man whimpered and nodded quickly before sliding away to sit in one of the chairs. He began typing away, attempting to initiate the scramble of the clean-up crew. Once he was unable to continue, Malcolm swiped his ID card and all the lights on the console that were red and yellow perked up in a bright neon green.

"Thunderbirds are go," he nodded. He looked over at Beresford and flashed his teeth. "Alright, I'm catching a ride with the squad—you hold down the fort, make sure Shaw doesn't piss himself, and if Rajit complains, she's got my number, yeah?"

"She's your PA, so I should hope so…"

"Right; see you when I see you."

"…but…!"

There was no time for Malcolm to reply, for he was off, nearly gliding away as he went to go find someone both well and important enough to not be mind-wiped regularly to ask where the squaddies were stored for just such an occasion as this.

* * *

Malcolm was the last one out of the military convoy, hands in his trouser pockets as he glanced around at his new surroundings. It had been a tolerable ride—the soldiers he rode with had _amazing_ senses of humor—but now it was time for business. He meandered about, examining the smoldering wreckage from afar as it sat in a barley field. The dirt road he was on squelched underneath his shoes, telling him that the rest of the field had been saved by recent rain and nothing else. Watching the clean-up crew, he stood silently until he heard the sound of someone running down the dirt track, shouting loudly the entire way.

"Hey you! What the blazes are you doing out here?!" Malcolm took one look and knew he was dealing with the farm owner: over sixty, the beginnings of a hobble in his gait, and patched overalls covered in various sorts of stains he did not want to think about. Grinning politely, Malcolm held out his hand as the man approached.

"Hey there, mate. You the owner of this lucky field?"

"Lucky me arse! I thought I called the police! Now I've got _soldiers_ and _hazmat suits_ and I don't know what-all buggering up my field! This is my livelihood you know!"

"You think we don't realize that?" Malcolm scoffed jokingly. "It's farmers that make sure we don't have to import all our food from fucking who-knows-where and while I'm all for modifying our crops for health reasons and better shelf-life, enough is enough. It's a tough one, yeah?"

The farmer squinted at Malcolm, unsure what to make of the Scottish stranger who was currently the most normal-looking of the strangers currently stomping about on his property. "Who _are_ you people?"

"The ones the police call when they're damned if they know what's fucking going on. Malcolm Tucker; I'm one of the higher-ups over at the UK sector of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce." The farmer cocked an eyebrow, but finally shook his hand. "Now tell me: _what_ can I do for you that would make both of our lives much easier?"

* * *

Kate woke up the following morning about as gracefully as she fell asleep: crumpled over in the bathroom whilst huddled next to the toilet. A pounding headache, sandpaper throat, an unsteady hand and a queasy stomach… it was punishment for not having been majorly sick in fifteen years, she imagined, and the price had been huge. She heard her mobile buzz atop the counter and crawled over to get it.

' _Are you coming in today?_ ' Her PA checking in—had to remember to give her a nicer bonus at the end of the year.

' _No. Will try for tomorrow. Don't let the place burn down._ '

Leaving it at that (the details of one's illness always best left private), the mostly-incapacitated scientific director and leader of UNIT's Mainframe UK picked herself up off the floor and stumbled out into the main of her room. Finding it too cold for just pajamas, she found her robe and shuffled her way down the stairs. She curled up on the couch in the sitting room and closed her eyes, attempting to not fall asleep sitting up while taking in the sounds of the day. A few minutes passed and she heard the other occupant of the house, her adult son Gordon, come out of his room and start looking around.

"Mum? Where are you?"

"Down here," she replied, grimacing at the sound of her own raw voice. Gordon came down and found his mother, groaning in frustration upon seeing her.

"You should be _in bed_ ," he scolded gently. "You're never going to get better if you don't rest up."

"I don't need you to tell me what to do," she frowned. A blanket was soon draped over her and Gordon was walking away. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes Mum, and did you already forget who came home last night to find you so delirious you were vomiting in the dishwasher?"

"It was that medication—it was out-of-date," she reminded him. A moment later and he was back in the sitting room, fussing over her blanket.

"Don't give me that; the box was printed in America and they mix their days and months."

"Go _away_ Gordon," Kate scowled. "I don't need you hovering over me like I'm about to die." She grumbled as her son forced a mug of soup in her hands. "Don't you have anything better to do?

"Mum, I don't report in for my last month at Wyton for another week—let me do this," the young man replied. When he saw his mother take out her mobile, he confiscated it, holding it high out of her reach. "No; not until you're better."

" _Gordon James Lethbridge-Stewart_ , you give me back that mobile. I _made you_ , and that means I can _unmake you_ ," she hissed.

"You _could_ , but it would be much less effort to just sit there and let this bug run its course," he said. The mobile beeped and he checked it from afar. "It's Ms. Khan. I thought you gave her a new boss to bother."

"Oh God, those two are fighting again," Kate groaned. She coughed roughly and sank down onto the couch cushions. "Tell her I'm not around. Tell her I'm in the loo vomiting my guts out. I don't want to hear another _squabble_ out of them until I'm well again."

"Okay," Gordon shrugged. He swiped the phone and answered, a smirk on his face. "This is the phone of Kate Stewart and you have reached her son Gordon. Kate is unable to…"

' _Put Director Stewart on the phone,_ _ **now**_ ,' Aparajita demanded. ' _Tucker is going to ruin everything_.'

"Ms. Khan, I'm sorry, but Mum's home sick and…"

' _I don't care what's happening you little RAF reject. We are currently_ _ **panicking**_ _and we need the Director's instructions!_ ' Gordon wrinkled his nose at the device in his hand and held it out towards Kate.

"She's being incredibly rude and insistent, but I assume it's the fault of this Tucker fellow and whatever they're scared he's going to do."

"If this is her exaggerating again I'm going to sack her myself," Kate muttered. She took the phone from her son and held it up to her ear. "This better be good, Khan."

' _Director Stewart, there's been a breach in protocol that I was only made aware of just now_ ,' Aparajita stated. ' _Mister Tucker is going to_ _ **give**_ _a press conference_.'

Kate's face blanched as all the remaining blood drained out. Her face set and she reentered work mode, ready to kill. "He's giving a press conference?! On what?! Where's Miller?!"

' _I forbid it and told him just to wait, but I need your permission to conduct a blackout before—oh sodding hell he's on-air_.'

Lunging for the remote, the sick woman turned on the television just in time to catch Malcolm stepping up to a podium amongst camera flashes and microphones. He gave the press a grin and cleared his throat.

" _Good afternoon. First off, I would like to apologize for the little change in programming—an unexpected bug is going around the office and our official spokesperson is where we all want him to be: at home and away from us_ ," he began. No one in his audience made a noise. " _Down to business: there have been claims that at approximately two-forty-three yesterday afternoon there was an 'alien invasion' on the outskirts of Caistor, Lincolnshire. We at the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce have looked into the matter and have deemed it merely the remnants of a rather large decorative paper lantern used as a school experiment that had been launched from an old strip of military tarmac, and the farmer whose crops have been damaged will be subsequently paid for his troubles. Any questions?_ "

The press was dead silent, not a one knowing quite what to say. Malcolm continued his cheeky smirk as he scanned the crowd. " _No takers?_ "

"Khan… why did no one tell me there was an incident this morning?" Kate wondered aloud. The woman on the other end of the call gulped.

' _Well, you called in sick and…_ '

"…and you let _Malcolm_ handle things. Malcolm, the man who has been aware of extraterrestrial life forms, let alone out of prison, for how many months? How many of those people there covered the Goolding Inquiry? How many of them covered him getting hauled off to the penitentiary!?" She let out a hacking cough into her kerchief, disgusting herself.

' _He was the one that went off on his own!_ ' Aparajita replied. ' _He took things into his own hands without telling me a_ _ **word**_ _. To make matters worse, he was talking to_ _ **your**_ _PA about protocol instead of_ _ **his**_ _PA first thing this morning and by the time I come into work I'm chasing him all around the compound trying to keep him in-check!_ '

"Wait… he handled it…? The entire thing?"

' _He was there when the clean-up crew arrived yesterday and didn't leave until he had talked with the farmer personally_ ,' was the response. ' _Does he not know what his job entails?_ '

"No… I think he knows _exactly_ what his job entails," Kate nodded. "Thank you for keeping me updated—see you tomorrow." She ended the call without allowing Aparajita to respond.

"So… is this a good thing…?" Gordon asked warily, eyes glued to the television. Not a single member of the press had asked a question and now the pundits were merely complaining about people blowing things out of proportion.

"It's more a confidence-building thing," his mother admitted. Her mobile chirped again and it was Malcolm. "Have fun scaring half of the political world to death with your inability to stay behind bars?"

' _Oh, you know, just thought I'd make sure the cattle could understand what was being said to them without getting out the fucking prod_ ,' he chuckled. ' _You know, that farmer bloke out in Lincolnshire was a real nice fellow once he calmed down. Gave me some local ale—put a bottle of it on your desk for when you're better_.'

"That's nice, but, why'd you go? There's plenty of other people who could have gone with much more experience than you…"

' _Yeah, but you all talk in such gobbledygook that sometimes all the men in black and soldiers stomping about just confuse 'em more_ ,' Malcolm explained. ' _Simple men sometimes need simple terms. It's not a_ _ **bad**_ _thing, unless you don't have someone around that wasn't handed everything on a silver platter, no offense meant_.'

"All the offense taken," she deadpanned.

' _Get better or I'm taking back that bottle—it was tasty. Ta_.'

The phone went dead and Kate locked the screen, plopping the device down on the couch next to her. "Well, that's a relief."

"Then I'm taking this back," Gordon said. He walked by the couch and plucked the mobile from the cushion, pocketing it immediately. He turned around just before the sitting room doorway and stared his mother down. "Okay, I'm going to the store and getting you some orange juice and something for that cough. Any requests?"

"No bits in the juice," she said, curling up and flipping through the television channels.

She had him trained.

* * *

Finally able to maintain an upright position without either wobbling or being criticized by her son, it took Kate nearly a full twenty-four hours before walking back into Mainframe UK. Some of the staff was still hobbling along looking rather thread-worn themselves yet she exuded the air of someone simply come back from a business trip. She went rode the lift up to her office, only to find Malcolm sitting in one of the chairs across from her desk, looking impeccably smug.

"Welcome home, love. Cat made a mess while you were away so I cleaned it up all nice for ya."

"Don't do things just to irritate Ms. Khan—it's not nice," she replied, sitting down in her chair. "She was _very_ cross when she rang me yesterday during your press conference."

"Yeah, got to apologize about that; Miller was keeled over from this thing that's going about and things were getting too hot under the collar without putting _something_ out there. Not that keen on taking over for Miller though—just 'cause I could do it once doesn't mean I won't cock it up eventually, and leaving himself open to a fucking like that is not what a Tucker does." He grinned, teeth flashing cheekily in a demand to be praised.

"Well next time, be sure to clear it with someone else first before you go ahead and do something," Kate said. "I don't care who, just as long as they're not gang-pressed into it."

"Got to have more than one of me to have a gang."

"There's only enough room in the world for one Malcolm Tucker… at least one in your likeness," she quipped. "Now where's this bottle of Lincolnshire ale you promised me?"

"What… you don't want to hear about my daring-dos? How I figured out how to use the neuralyzer without setting it off on myself first? Maybe the jokes I told the lads on the way up to the where the Flying Spaghetti Monster took a dive?"

"Getting back to your regular duties will suffice." She watched as Malcolm stood and exited the office, hands jammed in his pockets, and gave her a wink as the lift doors closed. Her PA giggled in amusement.

"I don't know why everyone is always so terrified of him," she said. "He really is a nice man."

"He's nice to those who know how to do their job, and it seems like we passed the test," Kate said. It wasn't until her assistant took the lift down to do her own errands did she begin to look through her desk. There, in the bottom drawer, was a bottle with a ribbon around the neck and a scrap of paper shoved behind the knot. She took the paper out and unfolded it, rolling her eyes at the scrawl.

' _Drink me_.'

"We might as well be through the Looking-glass in this occupation," she groaned. She replaced the bottle and closed the drawer—that was going to have to wait until lunch.

* * *

A day later and it was Aparajita's turn to get a text implied to be filled with mucus and bile, making her loudly thank her parents' gods in the middle of a hallway that she was to have a Malcolm-free forty-eight hours, which she took to do little things around the place that needed to be done. By the time he returned, she had his office equipped with a fruit bowl, heavy on the satsumas, and a formal promise to call a truce based on his admittedly cool demeanor during the Rutan fiasco. It was good, Malcolm knew, that he and Aparajita were now on the same page. That just made them all the more dangerous to whatever intergalactic pile of goo decided to crash-land on his home soil in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Yup, this isn't dead. Also, in case you're over on AO3 and haven't been there in a while, I've been crossposting fic over there, including this one.

* * *

 _Five_

Malcolm put down the box and wiped his brow, feeling achy. Looking around the room, he saw the explosion of cardboard and stuff that was the act of moving his niece into the spare bedroom of his flat and grinned. It was going to be just as they had planned while she was applying to universities in high school: she could save on housing and use his place as a home base of sorts, while he would have someone to come home to on a more regular basis. The plan hadn't panned out for her undergrad work, and when he had landed in prison it looked like graduate work wasn't going to benefit either with his house sold and stuff packed away in storage, but now that he was a member of UNIT things were smooth sailing.

"…and this is the last of it," Lex said, bringing in a laundry basket full of electronics cords. She put it down atop the bed and glanced around the room, happily taking in the sight. "I can't believe this is finally happening."

"Yeah; now you get to make all your little mates jealous, living rent-free in _London_ ," Malcolm laughed. "Too bad I only have the one room, or that one friend of yours could come down too."

"Kanda? She's too busy with her new beau to be of any use to the rest of us," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Her parents hate it; keep on threatening to send her back home."

"…but Kanda was born the same hospital you were, wasn't she? I thought Scotland was her home."

"It's called 'diaspora' Uncle Malc, and it doesn't matter if Kanda brings her lad to Glasgow or stays with him in Aberdeen; she's not _home_ according to her folks." She kissed her uncle on the cheek and began rummaging through the nearest box. "At least I know wherever you, Mam, and Granny are, I've got a home."

"Uh-huh, yeah, don't try that sentimental shit on me young lady—already got enough of that coming from Cullen at work."

"How is the old kettle-lugger anyhow? Did he break and get a hairpiece yet?"

"Nah, still holding out," he smirked. "Say, speaking of, you gonna be alright if I go in and clock in a couple hours?"

" _Can you_ , even though you've been hefting boxes all morning?"

"Ach, you'll be fucking fine." Malcolm flipped Lex his middle finger and left the room. He grabbed his laptop bag and keys and went off towards the old grind, despite the fact there was little he could consider repetitive about it. Even the more mundane things he had to do—changing the ravens' batteries, writing out speeches because his staff was too frazzled, walking people through what should have been simple tasks but they were too egg-headed to realize it—usually they involved something wild and crazy that he'd never have thought of even a year before.

For the first time in years, he felt as though he was _thriving_. It felt fucking **_great_**.

Ride the Tube, get off early due to a station renovation, walk the rest of the way, get through security—everything seemed fairly typical. Malcolm rode the lift into his office and greeted his PA, glad she was in a good mood.

"Move the nipper in alright?" Aparajita asked, holding out a manila folder. Her boss took it and scanned the contents; things that needed his approval before heading out towards the press hounds.

"She's not that much younger than you, you know," he said as he flipped through the papers. "Actually, she could have had a sibling older than you if my sister had wanted and it would have been perfectly normal."

"…and you still sound like her dad when you talk about her, so I don't want to hear it," she snarked. "Oh, and Glenn came by earlier today before lunch; wanted to know if you were free for some tea this afternoon."

"That limp sack asks me for tea every other day," he replied. He looked back down at the papers and wrinkled his nose. "This the most exciting stuff?"

"The only thing that'd make it more exciting is if the molemen revolted."

"Then I might as well take him up on the offer and play nice; never know when it'll come in handy," he said. Malcolm handed Aparajita the folder back and turned to leave. "If you need me, I'll be in Data Management being bored out of my skull."

"If that's the case, then you don't mind if I leave a bit early?"

"You could leave _now_ if you wanted. This sort of shite we can manage in our sleep. Just tell Sanchez to use fewer big words and we're set."

"Already did; see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow or an emergency—whichever comes first."

"Sounds like a plan."

Malcolm went into the lift and hit the button to go down further into the depths of Mainframe UK until the doors popped open and he was on the floor that contained Data Management. It was a vast, high-ceilinged level, just as spacious as the atrium upstairs. The main difference was that while the main level had walls full of screens and running displays of their monitoring zone, the Data Management floor was packed with servers and the main thing people were doing seemed to be diagnostics and coding. He wasn't entirely sure _how_ computers worked from the ground-up—one of the worst classes he had in university involved dialing an actual phone in order to connect to the internet—so what he gleaned was probably what was going on… somewhat.

"I see you got my message," said Glenn's voice from seemingly nowhere. Malcolm turned around and saw the other man standing there, holding a water jug that had clearly just been refilled.

There was no backing out now. He was trapped.

* * *

Glenn poured some more tea from his small teapot into the two mugs between him and Malcolm. They had been chatting for most of the afternoon at that point about various things, though now that it was close to the time to leave, the topic had begun to shift towards what they were planning on doing when they were let loose from the confines of Mainframe UK. Malcolm had told him all about the ordeal about moving Lex in that morning, from the amount of stuff she had to how amazed he was she could fit it all in the tiny car she drove.

"You must be proud, moving in to attend grad school," he nodded as he put the teapot down. "You don't have any kids yourself, right?"

"If I did, then it's news to me," Malcolm replied. He sipped at his drink; it was going cold. "Lex is the closest thing I've got to a kid, which means that if she's in need of a place to stay, then my door is always open."

"Never thought of you like that—the sort of man to have a small child to dote upon. It makes more sense since she's your niece and not your daughter," Glenn said. "Can always give a niece back, but you're stuck with a daughter."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, somewhat curious about what sort of air he had cultivated back in his government days aside from one who could render a cunt to shreds at a hundred paces by glare alone. "What sort of man did you think I was on the outside?"

"Not sure," Glenn replied. "I've seen you interact with kids before that were on school trips, but you didn't seem to give them much of the Tucker the Fucker we all knew and feared, so I figured it was just you holding it in until you could have a shout at someone else."

"It's no fair swearing and having a shout at school kids—they've done nothing wrong and if they have, chances are it's an honest mistake. It's the _adults_ that have to watch out for me, because they're the ones that are supposed to know what they're doing."

"…like the Gordon Ramsay of politics, you were," Glenn deadpanned. "I hear he treats kids and the little guy nicely too."

"Yeah, that's an issue we Scots have: we like to see competence in our work field and go into a rage when it's not there," Malcolm fired back. Sentiment and touchy-feely shit was alright at times, but this conversation was beginning to get on his nerves. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, he stood. "Would you look at that, it's quitting time."

"If only we got hired in here sooner—you'd still have brown hair and I'd have hair period," Glenn said. "See you tomorrow?"

"Maybe; depends on what cock-up happens within the next sixteen hours," Malcolm grunted. The air had definitely gotten better between them, but that didn't mean he wanted to make this a daily occurrence. "Thanks for the tea."

"Thanks for the company. I understand them when it comes to work, but try to get one of those kids I oversee to talk in coherent sentences otherwise and everyone's shit out of luck."

"Maybe you need a Lex more than I do. Ta." He then left as quickly as he could, not wanting to get wrapped up into too much else. Malcolm stopped by his office for a brief moment and made sure there was nothing urgent waiting for him. When there wasn't, he felt absolutely no qualms in leaving, for the lack of emergency was a great thing to revel in.

His commute back home was fairly typical for the time of day: week-old shite in a bedpan. The Tube was cramped with tourists, commuters, and students, jostling and bumping into one another so much that Malcolm was surprised that he still had his wallet on him when he left the station. Seeing his flat block made him chuckle to himself; how many people would be livid to know he was living the life he was now? A steady, well-paying job, a home that did not involve bars on the windows or a distinct lack of privacy, the ability to come and go as he pleased, and to have anyone over he wanted… it was fucking fantastic.

"Uncle Malc, some stuff came for you while you were gone," Lex said as soon as he opened the door to the flat. She was sitting at the breakfast bar, typing on her laptop while having tea.

"What sort of stuff?" he asked.

"Looks likes clothes; didn't go through it since the guys that brought it over seemed rather official—knew my name and everything." She sipped her tea and continued writing. "They put it in your room."

"Thanks for the warning, kiddo," Malcolm grumbled. He went into his bedroom and found a suit bag, which had a tuxedo and spit-shined shoes inside. "Uh… Lex? Did the guys that brought this over say anything about what it's for?"

"Nope," she replied, raising her voice so he could hear. "Just said it's for your field mission tonight and I wasn't to touch it."

"…but I don't have a field mission." He walked back to the kitchen and stared at his niece. "Are you _sure_? You're not fucking with me?"

"I'm at _uni_ , Uncle Malc; even if I had the funds I wouldn't use them on whatever it is they brought over just to fuck with you."

Nodding silently, he went to the bathroom and took a shower, knowing it was sacrilege to put on a tuxedo after helping tote boxes up from the parking level and sitting in the presence of Glenn's old-man funk for a couple hours. The hot water of the shower made his aching muscles relax and coaxed him into staying in a little longer than normal just to ease the tension. By the time he was clean and putting the finishing touches on his outfit, his mobile rang—Kate.

"Mind explaining to me what the fuck's going on here, love?" Malcolm asked as he put the device to his ear.

" _You have five minutes to get down here or I'm coming up and do you **really** want to try explaining this to Alexandra?_" she replied frankly. " _Tick tock_."

Hanging up the mobile, Malcolm shoved it back in his pocket and stormed through the flat to the front door. "Don't wait up for me, kiddo; don't know what's going on."

"Okay. Just watch your arse and remember I want _an_ auntie, not several," she said frankly, not even looking away from her computer screen. Her uncle simply rolled his eyes and made his way down to the main floor and out to the discreet black saloon that was waiting for him. He got in and buckled up, not glancing over at Kate until they were moving, instantly resisting crossing his legs.

It should have been _illegal_ for her to wear a cut that tight… not that he would tell her, of course. She could do what she wanted but… _damn_. Her dress shimmered just by her _breathing_ and she gave him a smug smile as he sat there silently.

"Time to earn your keep, Tucker," she said. "Let's use your charms for the forces of good, shall we?" He simply nodded in reply, not trusting his charms at that very moment.

* * *

The atmosphere _reeked_ of the most upper of upper-class, the pungent aroma filling Malcolm's nose and sending jolts through his system. While he enjoyed the concept of the local as much as any bloke, it was here, amongst the low-slung gowns and expensive wine and sit-down dinners of the tiny-portioned and trendy sort, where he really flourished. Women without a clue found his crude demeanor witty and the men laughed to take it in stride.

"Were you really helping your niece move this morning or did R&D use you as a test subject for some new drug?" Kate quipped into her drink, having noticed his unnaturally-congenial nature. As she had explained the mission on the way over, a combination of funds farming and surveillance, he could barely keep his eyes off her, realizing that, fuck and tits, the night was starting off as a wet dream. It hadn't gotten much better, but he was coping incredibly well. It was a true privilege to escort her to the charity function, he felt, though considering how bored she seemed elsewise, he suspected it was more for the entertainment factor than anything else.

"Not unless they shot me with a blowgun like one of those tiny Amazon men on my way in," he smirked. Sarcasm—an excellent shield if there ever was one. "Could learn loads from that lot, what, with them going about starkers all the time and knowing how to live off the land."

"It's truly always about sex and voyeurism with men, isn't it?"

"Och, thinking on your behalf too, love. Wouldn't work be interesting with no one hiding? Nothing concealed?"

"It'd be cold and what little you have would shrivel up."

"You wound me." Kate was definitely the best dinner-date he'd ever had, beating all the old girlfriends and professionally-amicable escorting details by miles. She was the sort of person that didn't need someone's arm linked with hers, nor was she liable to become giggly and drunk, as had always been a crapshoot no matter who he attended functions with. Malcolm knew the only reason he was there was because it looked better having a seemingly-stable couple ask for monetary funding than a single person and he did not mind in the slightest. It was merely how the world worked, as twisted as that was, and if it'd help keep UNIT from groveling for a hand-out from the Queen, then it was more than worth it.

Besides, he liked being reminded that he could wear the ever-living _fuck_ out of a tuxedo.

"We should go for the minister over by the punch bowl—favorite uncle was a botanist and always has had a soft spot for big words because of it," he muttered. Malcolm leaned down towards her ear and tried not to take advantage of the fact he could easily appreciate Kate's attire, specifically chosen to help them blend in. "We could say 'supercalifuckilisticexpialidocious' and boom—we can upgrade the molemen's computers, paint the men's loo, and have enough left over to let Osgood play around in her sandbox."

She let out a false laugh and looked up at him, tone all business. "…and why is painting the men's restroom that high a priority?"

"You ever been in there? Glenn and other Glenn-like entities bomb it with such regularity and potency that the paint's peeling and I swear it's discolored around the stalls."

"That is more description I've needed concerning a toilet than I've ever needed in my life," she deadpanned. Kate put her glass down on the tray of a passing waiter and scanned the room. Everything seemed normal, average for one of these events of showy donations and high-society hobnobbing, until something caught her eye. She gently placed both hands on Malcolm's arm and made direct eye contact. "Let's go have a dance." It took a moment to process, but he nodded in agreement.

"Whatever the lady wants." He led her out to the dance floor, where there were other couples dancing slowly to the partial orchestra that seemed to play merely slight variations of the same song. Chortling, he put one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder as he stayed close enough to catch a hefty whiff of her perfume. "If only the lads at D Cat can see me now."

"Yes, good for you, but can you see that man chatting with Lady Hamstead?"

They turned enough for him to catch what she was referring to. "The one that _screams_ Poxbridge twat?"

"No, the other one." She pressed against him so she could lower her voice further. "The one with _green skin._ "

Cocking an eyebrow, Malcolm waited until the group was in sight again before casually glancing over. There was Lady Hamstead, the Twat, and…

"If that's normal then I'm a fucking nun," he marveled. "How does no one notice that?!"

"You can see it because I can—my perfume contains anti-hallucinogens and shimmer-decoding nanobots. I've only seen a shade like that on a Trion."

"A _what_?"

"A Trion: humanoids from outerspace, but they tend to come in a wider variety of colors," she explained. Now Malcolm understood why they were attending _this_ charity event in particular. "Most Trions on Earth are either registered with UNIT or are closely monitored; some are benign and have gone native, but overall they're a dangerous lot to have around. The only ones in that particular green that I can think of off the top of my head live in Hong Kong and have strong enough roots to where I'd know if they left."

"A regular Jamesina Bond, you are," Malcolm smirked. "Does that make me your Bond Boy and Scarfy our Q?"

"Much more of that and you're on permanent Raven Room duty," Kate warned. The song switched up and she stepped away, keeping a hold on him as they pretended to meander towards the punch that both of them secretly hoped was spiked. It _was_ , pleasantly enough, and the new position in the room gave them a better view of their target.

"The green keeps on going in and out, like a pixelated distortion," he mentioned.

"That's the perfume filtering in with normal air—just make sure you remember what he looks like," she assured. Going into her clutch, Kate palmed something small as she rummaged around. "I'm going to head to the powder room; entertain yourself, will you?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he replied. Malcolm watched as his boss (' _your_ _ **boss**_ _, Tucker_ ') crossed the room, walking as though she wore such high heels and elegant dresses every day, and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He tried not to bug his eyes in surprise as he found something in the one that he hadn't remembered putting in there—the thing from Kate's clutch. It felt metallic and cold, with buttons his fingers only just brushed against.

Taking another serving of punch, Malcolm began to mingle, using his decades-honed ability to move unnoticed throughout the crowd. He watched as the alien excused himself and made his way towards the hall that contained the coat-check and restrooms. Apologizing to a waiter as he left his punch with him, he went and followed the now-ordinary seeming man all the way to the loo. While the alien went and used one of the urinals, Malcolm took a stall. Looking at the device that had been deposited in his pocket, he found it was exactly what he had expected: a tranquilizer pen.

After waiting until the alien began washing his hands, Malcolm used his foot to hit the flush on the toilet and casually strolled out into the main of the restroom. He went to the sink next to the Trion and began to run the water. The alien went over to the hand-dryer and activated it, the sound of rushing air overtaking everything as it echoed off the tiled walls. It was only in his peripherals, but Malcolm watched in the mirror as the man took something from his jacket pocket and opened it under the cover of noise—too sci-fi to be a gun but too gun-shaped to be anything else.

Everything after that seemed to happen in a flash. Malcolm ducked as the alien spun around and fired the weapon; energy blaster, muffled, perfect for assassinations. The human hid inside a stall, prepping his own weapon as his assailant came for him. Without giving him time to fire, Malcolm struck, stabbing the Trion in the neck and injecting the sedative. The reaction was instant, with the alien crumpling into his arms. Hearing the door to the restroom open, Malcolm panicked and dragged the failed assassin into the stall with him, closing the door and setting the dead weight on the toilet.

"Malcolm," Kate scolded, the sound of her voice making the man in question cringe. "Now you're one of the last men I think I'd find in a stall with another man."

He opened the door and casually leaned against the stall wall, grinning cheekily. "Space-shags don't count… didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

Apparently, no one had ever told her that.

* * *

The remainder of the charity function had gone well enough. Kate and Malcolm had been able to keep the restroom contained with a well-place out-of-order sign until the hall was cleared and a small dispatch team from Mainframe UK was able to come and collect the rogue Trion. It was well past when either of them normally went to bed when they piled into the car ready to take them home.

"Why did I think it was a good idea to commute so far?" Kate moaned. She leaned back into the seat and tried to relax. "I won't be in bed for another _hour_."

"If this were yesterday, I'd invite you over to stay the night," Malcolm smirked, just as exhausted. She raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Why yesterday?"

"…Lex," he explained. "She now has the spare bed… unless you were thinking something else." He grinned at her, wiggling his eyebrows for effect. That only made her _more_ exasperated as she exhaled heavily and shook her head.

"No, I'm just… tired." She thought for a moment and let out a tiny noise of resignation. "You have a couch, yeah?"

"I'll take it; you can have the bed," he said.

"You sure?"

"I've napped on the couch enough to know it's good enough."

"Alright then… thanks."

Kate gave the driver new directions and they stopped by Mainframe UK for a quick moment for her to snatch the emergency set of clothes from her office. That didn't take long and before the tired coworkers realized it, they were being dropped off in front of Malcolm's flat block.

"Milady," he said, offering her a hand out of the car. She took it and they walked in together, failing at their attempt to not lean on one another for support while they rode the lift up. The flat block was deathly quiet as they went down the corridor to his door. He fumbled with the keys, bleary-eyed to the point where he could barely see straight.

Immediately upon entering the flat, Malcolm and Kate encountered a big problem. Lex was curled up on the couch having fallen asleep watching movies. Malcolm draped a blanket over his niece and turned off the television, returning to his boss as she took off her shoes by the door.

"I'll take the armchair," he explained quietly. "You just get to bed."

"Fuck it Malcolm, we're both adults and I already feel bad for imposing," Kate said. "Sleep on the sheets if you want, but we're sharing."

Too tired to come up with a snarky retort, Malcolm shrugged and showed her to his room. He loaned her a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt to wear, and by the time he was done changing in the main bathroom, she was already out of the ensuite and comfortably sleeping in his bed.

"Not the way you would've liked, but beggars can't be choosers," he muttered to himself. He walked around to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, taking delight in the extra weight on the mattress as he quickly drifted off into sleep.

A few hours later, still in the dead of night, Malcolm woke to use the loo, as was customary for his bladder at the appointed time. He checked the couch to see Lex still there, curled up and snug, and returned to his room. When he got back in bed, the shifting of the mattress made Kate stir enough to roll over and drape her arm over him. She murmured something in her sleep too incoherent for him to understand and held his chest tight. He smiled privately as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment. When he woke up again she was gone, his borrowed pajamas neatly folded on a chair and not much else left to show that Kate had spent the night other than a couple blonde hairs in his comb and a note thanking him on his bathroom sink.

He went and woke up Lex from her spot on the couch and began shuffling around in the kitchen to put together a meager breakfast. Malcolm wasn't going to tell her, else risk the teasing that would incur if nothing ever came of it. Everything was fine, he supposed, because even if nothing had changed, it all had anyhow.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: It's been a while for this story, so please enjoy the longest chapter yet (5678 words)!

* * *

 _Six_

It had been a week since the Trion Incident and things seemed to be going fairly normally at Mainframe UK. People still showed up to work, did their jobs, sometimes meddled with others' jobs, and nothing unusual for UNIT was going on. Everything was fairly normal, and it made Malcolm a bit on-edge. Kate had appeared to be distancing herself from him, going back to only using his surname despite the fact they had played Bond together all the way down to sharing a bed. Okay, so the bed-sharing involved a lot less shagging than what Roger Moore got up to on film, but the two of them had still slept on the same mattress using the same bedding at the same time, which he'd think that there would be some sort of verbal acknowledgement. Things were instead the same as ever, only serving to dishearten the spin master, something that he attempted to shield from his personal assistant and his niece alike.

Walking into work one day with a takeaway coffee in his hand, Malcolm scowled his way through security and glowered towards his office. The molemen seemed like they were doing an acceptable job at a quick glance so he didn't bother to check in with anyone else. He walked right past Aparajita and sat down at his desk, immediately getting to work.

"Uh, Malcolm?" Aparajita wondered, poking her head in the room. Her dark brows were furrowed in concern. "I've got that write-up you wanted Husak to compose."

"Sounds good," he replied dully. She frowned at that, not liking his tone.

"Shaw shat on the rug this morning."

"Good for him."

Aparajita rolled her eyes and plucked the manila folder containing Husak's write-up, carrying it over to Malcolm's desk. She plopped it right on his keyboard and left before he could protest, returning to her alcove of the office. Just before she sat down, however, the lift doors opened and Kate's son Gordon popped out looking very nervous.

"Uh, hi," he mumbled anxiously. He stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Corporal Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, and I'm starting tomorrow as an assistant to the Head of Mainframe Security." Aparajita shook his hand and chuckled in amusement.

"Don't play dumb with me, kid; I know you're Director Stewart's son," she replied. They'd met over the phone, but this was the first time they'd seen one another in-person. "You just want to be treated like everyone else, right?"

"Yeah," he admitted. He leaned over and peered inside the main office, staring at Malcolm tapping away on his computer. "Is Mister Tucker available, or is he busy? I wanted to meet him, since we'll be working together at times."

"He shouldn't be busy enough to meet you." She turned her head so that she could see her boss and whistled sharply. "Hey, Malcolm, we've got a newbie running around introducing himself; come on over and play nice."

"I'm busy," he grumbled.

"How about if you get your pasty arse over here or I'm bringing him in there."

"You don't know how pasty my arse is."

"Oops, my mistake—that was your face," she deadpanned. Malcolm stood and stomped over towards his assistant and the new guy, sticking out his hand.

"Tucker, Public Relations."

"I'm Gordon, Director Stewart's son. I just transferred over from the RAF this week to work security detail—better than being a mall cop." He laughed nervously, attempting to gauge the grey, sour-looking man before him. "Mum… um… talks about you…"

"Does she now?" he wondered, attempting to hide his interest.

"Yeah; I was at home on leave during the whole Rutan incident you handled while she was down with that bug and she spoke favorably of you," the younger man said. "I still can't believe she and an Osgood had to break you out of prison."

"That's only 'cause your mam knows talent when she sees it," he preened. Malcolm frowned as Aparajita let out a snorting giggle, returning to her desk. " _Anyhow_ , I didn't think Kate was into nepotism, unless this is something else…"

"Consider UNIT something along the lines of the family business," Gordon admitted. "I was able to transfer in on my own, and I'm going to _keep_ this job on my own. Mum's going to have nothing to do with it, hence Security."

Looking at the young man before him, Malcolm considered him. He seemed too baby-faced and fresh to be much older than his niece, if he was that old at all, and wondered how he would keep a job in security of all things. "What were you in the RAF? Desk clerk? Recruiting officer?"

"Corporal—kept my rank on the transfer, sir."

"Save the sirs for the bleeding exercises; I'm Malcolm." He turned around and began the walk back to his desk.

"Thanks for letting Mum stay over last week," Gordon said. His words made Malcolm freeze in the middle of the room, looking back at him. "I get sort of worried when she's out late on UNIT work and knowing she had your guest room the other day was a relief."

"Yeah… no problem," Malcolm said quickly, attempting to brush it off. Kate had lied to her kid; worse yet, she had a kid that was old enough to be their coworker, which could definitely complicate things. "It was getting too late and I've done the commute shit before, so I know what it's like to get home only to turn around to go back. Fucking sucks."

"Still really nice of you; thanks Malcolm," he repeated. Gordon then went back towards the lift, waving cordially at Aparajita. "Ms. Khan."

"RAF Reject," she replied with a smirk. She finished what she was typing and rolled her chair so that she could see Malcolm, a grin plastered on her face. "You had just moved in Lex—Director Stewart _couldn't_ have had your guest room."

"I slept on the couch," he stated.

"I don't believe you." She stared at him, trying to figure him out. "What did your niece say to you bringing your boss home the first night she was there, the two of you dressed in a tux and a gown?"

"Nothing—she didn't even know Director Stewart was there."

"Gotcha," Aparajita said, clapping her hands together and pointing at Malcolm. "Either you two got drunk and slept together, or there's something else that happened you don't want to admit."

"I had _a_ drink that night to be polite and blend in, which is more than I should have had, and she didn't have much either," he scowled. "Why are you being so fucking nosy?"

"…because it's my business to know if my direct boss is sleeping with, and-or wants to sleep with, his direct boss," she replied. "Didn't your old PA get to know all your dirty little secrets?"

"My old PA actually predicted and blocked many dirty little secrets from even happening," he said. "Not knocking any of your ability, since having you helping me is like a fucking dream, but she was Super Assistant, partly because we were a team for so long."

"You have to be in order to manage a guy like you," she scoffed through a laugh. "So tell me: do you want to shag Director Stewart, or do you want to shag Director Stewart? Alternative answer is: you want to shag Gordon's mum, who is, funnily enough, Director Stewart."

"Yeah, I want to shag her, though I thought her kids were too young to work here," he admitted.

"What, hoping some primary schooler would want to call you Dad?"

"Nah; that ship has long-sailed and got caught up and sunk in some Bermuda Triangle shit. I'm a better long-distance uncle than a father and always have been."

"Oh, you don't know that," she chuckled.

"No Rajit, I think I do," he said. "Hey, this doesn't leave the office, yeah? This stays between the two of us—none of this gets out unless it's abso-fucking-lutely necessary."

"Don't worry; I've got your back," she smirked. Rolling out of sight, she went behind her desk again and returned to her work. "Just remember who you're making eyes at; Director Stewart isn't the kind of woman to simply take unwanted advances demurely."

"It's something I've considered," he replied. Malcolm smiled privately as he opened up the folder and looked over Husak's write-up. Had it not been for the week prior, he wouldn't even be considering it. Now…? He was at least hopeful.

* * *

Gathering up his courage, Malcolm paced around his office in an attempt to calm himself down. There hadn't been much for him to focus on that day, meaning that he had way too much time to think and overthink the woman whose office was above his—the woman he admittedly wanted to get to know better on a personal level. He'd gone into similar relationships before, where he and a woman were contractually obligated to occupy similar buildings for at least eight hours a day, but many of them had ended badly and he wanted to make sure he was sure he wanted this.

Now that he thought about it, some of them ended more than badly, down to the point that he could say some of them had been right _fucked_. One had even gone as far as her moving into his house with him, despite their lack of true compatibility. Later on, after a crazy year of being cheated on and even divorce papers because yes, he had been that brain-dead-stupid, he had glanced around his home and knew the only thing he had wanted for a long time afterward would be a companion. It had been difficult to take the ring off—sentimental bullshit that actually made things a mite easier on the hobnobbing front—but once he did a weight lifted from his chest and shoulders. He had always been of the mindset that personal relationships were never supposed to be a burden, never a stone to drag around every fucking minute of every sodding day. Friendships, dating, even marriage if things went that far, was all supposed to be a support beam for a person, so he didn't want to overcomplicate what he already had. Malcolm had his freedom, his job, his flat, his family… did he really want more?

Yes. Yes he did. Malcolm thought about Kate and her intense composure and power when it came to things so fucking ridiculous it made cheap sci-fi seem same. It sent something through him, and he wanted to feel more of it. The way it felt having her in the same bed as him the week before had been nice… better than nice, truth be told. It was so rare for him to find someone who was intelligent, competent, dangerous, and unattached, that the opportunity was one he couldn't pass. Okay, so she had a kid that now worked in Security, but that office was on the other side of the compound. She didn't wear a ring and had talked about custody procedures—Kate was as single of a woman as they came. That green whelp from earlier didn't need a da, since he probably was still in contact with his real one, so it was safe.

If she spurned him, so be it. At least he'd be able to say he tried.

"Hey, Rajit, I need to talk with Director Stewart for a tic; I'll be there in case of an emergency," he said, walking by his PA.

"What level of emergency are we talking here?" she wondered.

"Invasion-levels—fuckall to everything else," he replied, entering the lift and hitting the button. She affirmed as the doors closed and a moment later Malcolm found himself staring at Kate's PA. "Director in?"

"She is," the young woman answered. "Is she expecting you?"

"Nah; just thought I'd pop in for a quick face-to-face chat," he said. Malcolm put his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet, trying to keep his cool. There was no use in cussing out this one, since she was nearly on the same level as Aparajita and Sam as far as competence as far as competence was concerned. "She busy?"

"Not sure… let me double-check," she said. The assistant stood and vanished behind the door leading into Kate's office, staying there momentarily before popping back out again. "She can spare a minute."

"Thanks Morton." He slipped in through the open door, shutting it quietly behind her. Malcolm could see Kate sitting at her desk, glancing over a dossier as she slowly munched on a sandwich.

"You wanted to talk about something?" she asked, flipping over a page. He found a chair and placed it next to her desk, almost so that it was right next to hers, and sat down.

"If it's alright, I want to talk to you about last week—"

"There's nothing to talk about." She put down her sandwich and locked her gaze with his. "We were doing what we had to do."

"…except you didn't have to accept my invitation and we both fucking know it," he mentioned. "Kate, love, do you want to try something or am I grasping at straws here?"

She stayed silent for a while, turning her eyes back to the papers in front of her. "I don't think you are, but I don't know what precisely you're grasping at. We aren't kids anymore and there's shit to get done."

"…but you've felt it too, yeah? I mean, I knew I liked you and that we'd get along from the moment you broke me out, but there's more than that… _fucking hell_ there's more than that on my end, and I wanted to check to make sure it wasn't just me."

"We _can't_ , Malcolm," Kate said. "Even if we both want it, there's too much to _do_."

"There are worse things than to work alongside the one you're shagging," he reasoned. The sound of her saying his given name while at the office was exhilarating… moreso than he'd like to admit. "Worst is we'd get interrupted by some piece of shit alien invasion, which is frankly what would happen even if we were with other people, and we'd discuss policies as our pillow talk."

"Is that really what you want?" she questioned. "This isn't something to take lightly."

"You read my dossier—you _know_ about how short my marriage was, but I've read it too and it says _fuck-all_ about why it was as abrupt as it was," he said, voice low. Malcolm held out his hand, glad that it was both behind the desk and too far from the window for anyone in the atrium to see. "If I took something like this lightly, then I'd be a very different person than I am now. I don't fuck around… not on the things that really matter."

Kate stared at his hand before taking it. "I'm not sure," she muttered. "I can see myself with you, but… I'm not sure if it's appropriate."

"Fuck appropriateness, love," he scoffed lightly, running his thumb over hers. "I think we're adult enough to know that we can disagree and call one another out here and still go to bed together on our own time. It's called _our jobs_."

"Can you give me some time?" she asked. "It'd be nice to be with someone again, but…"

"No, take your time," he offered. He lifted up her hand and kissed her fingers, hoping to spark a reaction whether it be good or bad. All he got was a slow blink before she carefully took her hand back. He was about to reach out to touch her hair when his mobile rang, shattering the moment into tiny shards all over the floor. Swiping the call through, he scowled as he answered. "The **_fuck_** , Rajit? This better be good considering I'm literally a floor above you."

" _You still with Director Stewart?_ " she asked. Her voice was panicky, making his frown go from irritated to worried.

"Yeah; what's the matter?"

" _Put me on speaker, please_ ," she requested. He did, placing the mobile down on the desk.

"Okay, you're on."

" _We just got word in that there's a junior minister that's threatening to completely defund UNIT from both the United Kingdom and United Nations' pocketbooks, as well as run us into the ground for being a bunch of tin foiled-hatted nutbags_."

"…to be fair, that is what we are," Kate said. "What makes this threat any more credible than others?"

" _This man's grandfather was in the British Army during the Operation Golden Age Incident," Aparajita explained. "He has enough insider knowledge to take down_ _ **everyone**_."

Kate's face when pale at that news. She leaned back in her chair and stared into nothingness, focusing on her breathing.

"Kate? What's that mean?" Malcolm asked, not liking her reaction. "Rajit, what's this all about?"

" _There was a big uproar in the mid-Seventies that caused the evacuation of all Central London; do you remember?_ "

"Kiddo, I was too worried about acne, passing my fucking exams, and me Mam finding the skin mag collection in the wardrobe in the mid-Seventies to concern myself with the shit going on down here," he said. "Save the details and give me the gist."

" _General Finch told his grandson incriminating stories that pegs a Shoreditch politician, Director Stewart's father, the Doctor, one of the premier investigative journalists of the past forty years, and Captain Benton for direct roles in an event that brought dinosaurs to London… not to mention all of the other things we've had to do in the past_."

"…and something tells me I don't want to hear any of it," he frowned, scratching his chin. "Finch, you said? Victor Finch?"

" _That's the one_ ," she said. " _His grandfather was part of the scandal, but the story he just forwarded to me completely clears him of any blame whatsoever. The man is serious_."

"Then we have to make sure we take him down before he can act," Kate decided resolutely. "Malcolm, you know this Finch?"

"Had a couple run-ins with him over the years; cocky, but an effective lawmaker."

"Then we need to go _now_ ," she replied. "Morton? Cancel the four o'clock, please; Tucker and I have got to make sure we keep the shop in business."

"Yes, ma'am," her PA answered from her desk. She came in and brought Kate some folders, which she immediately began to go through.

Malcolm picked up his mobile as he stood, turning off the speaker and putting the device to his ear. "Okay, Rajit, we're off. Keep me informed of what's going on. Text me anything that might help."

" _Okay, I'll try_ ," she replied. There was an awkward silence before she continued. " _Daadaajee was mixed up in that mess, since UNIT was how my mum's family came to the UK. He's old-guard, Malcolm; any whiff of his name attached to a scandal and his heart won't take it_."

"Don't worry—none of us are getting fucked for this. That's your granddad, yeah?"

" _Yeah_."

"The old coot won't go down because of this, I can guarantee it. Talk to you later." Malcolm hung up the mobile and stuffed it in his pocket as he followed Kate to the lift. He stayed quiet as they power-walked through the compound and entered the chauffeured car. Once it was certain that the driver couldn't hear them, he cussed grouchily.

"Cursing now won't solve anything, Tucker," Kate stated. Fuck, she was back to his surname.

"Aparajita's worried about her granddad," he said. "In fact, I'm beginning to think that this place is a whole hell of a lot more a family business than is let on."

"…what?" she wondered.

"I met Gordon today—he introduced himself since he's going to work down in Security. Your son, you, and your da worked at Mainframe UK; Aparajita and her granddad; I've heard a Scarfy mention her Uncle William… what have you declined to tell me?"

"Nothing major," she replied coldly. "Mainframe UK has employed multiple generations of families because UNIT recruits where there is the best potential. Sometimes it's because someone is open-minded to the universe, or because they have encountered some of the species we deal with, but there are times when an individual's family background is enough to help them in. Trust me, Tucker: I'd much rather have Gordon become a maths teacher in the countryside than work with us, but it's what he chose."

"Then who are those other people Rajit was mentioning?" he asked. "A politician? A journalist? Shit… I don't even know who your da _is_ , so part of me is just lucky I know Benton." He thought back to the month before when he was introduced to a wrinkly old man who seemed like there was more to him behind his white hair and crisp military kit.

"One of the councilmen in Shoreditch, Yates, is an old UNIT member from back when my father and Captain Benton were still serving," she explained. "The journalist is Sarah Jane Smith, who was just starting out when she was roped into the mess. She's been tied with the Doctor and UNIT ever since."

" _Sarah Jane Smith?_ Marcia _loathes_ her; same age. I think they got into a spat once."

"Knowing Miss Smith, it wouldn't surprise me. My father, well… remind me another time." The car stopped in front of Number 10 and the two passengers got out.

"Mick, hey, good to see you!" Malcolm immediately grinned, walking up to the door guard. They shook hands like old friends. "Been a while; how's Wee Lily? Started Grade One by now, yeah?"

"Yeah, can barely keep track of her," the guard beamed. "You have an appointment?"

"Yes and no; I'm with the UN now and my boss and I need to speak with MP Finch."

"Oh, that mess about funding? Heard about that earlier when some aides were going by." Mick hit a button on the side of his radio and the door opened from the inside. "Give 'em Hell."

"You know it." Malcolm escorted Kate inside and took a deep breath. This was it; he was in his natural habitat after being told he'd never need set foot in the building again. The cunts were _wrong_.

"The two of you sure were chummy," his coworker said as they navigated the building. Every now and then someone would stop and stare at them, whispering about their worst nightmare having risen from the grave.

"I'm not a fan of treating guys like Mick poorly—they're the ones who help run the place," he replied. "When you think about it, it's better to be nice than pretend they're not there, let alone be rude, because that's the kind of shit that made the aristocracy crumble upon themselves, when it wasn't due to fucking inbreeding and being complete twats."

"Somehow your enthusiasm doesn't surprise me," she deadpanned. They reached Finch's office and found it unguarded by any sort of secretary or personal assistant of any kind. This gave Malcolm the freedom to barge on into the office, slamming the door open and making Finch jump. He was a small-ish, almost scraggly sort of man with a permanent frown on his face.

"I'll have to call you back; riffraff found the office," he said into the desk phone before hanging it up. He then glared at his visitors, clearly perturbed at their presence. "Well now, I never thought I'd see the likes of you in here again, Tucker. Even with good behavior I imagine the next time you'd breathe free air would be in 2038."

"Save the formalities, Finch. I'm here under the command of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce," Malcolm snapped. "You have been unfairly pressuring us into bending over and asking for more; now why is that? What sort of beef do you have that warrants complete defunding and mockery?"

"…because you are the United _Nations_ , not the United _Kingdom_ ," the junior minister replied dryly. "You and your lot have been eating up all of Her Majesty's precious funds for too long with nothing to show for it. We could be using that money to keep Britain safe, instead of pouring it into whatever hijinks you like to pull. Then there's the United Nations front, which I'm sure is absolutely _ecstatic_ that their precious budget is being used for gallivanting about, poking at meteors and downed weather balloons or whatever it was you deployed troops to Caistor for."

"We're keeping the _entire_ _ **fucking**_ _world_ safe, and you'd know that if you looked at the reports we've given in compliance of transparency laws," Malcolm snarled. Kate put a hand on his upper arm and gently pulled him away from the desk.

"Save it for someone who's worth it," she said. He immediately backed down, his lip still curled into a sneer. The mobile in his pocket buzzed—Aparajita, with good news.

"I didn't think you took orders anymore, now that you bit Murray on the tit like the rabid dog you are, or were you neutered while penned up in D Cat," Finch snickered. Kate set her glare and took a step forward, staring the junior minister down.

"If I were you, I'd watch my tongue," she warned him. "I do have express permission from both the Queen and the UN Secretary-General to do whatever I see fit to keep this planet from being destroyed at any moment. If you don't like it, you can either shut up, or you can land on my list of terrestrial belligerents."

"Instead of what? Being on the list of _extra_ terrestrial belligerents?" Finch stopped at saw that neither of his guests' faces had changed in severity, causing him to laugh nervously. "Wait a second… you can't seriously say that you're preventing an invasion of space-aliens?! Tucker, what sort of drugs did they pump into you?"

"The truth," he replied quietly, sliding the mobile back in his pocket. "Now I understand the reason of why I needed to make up stories at certain times while the PM's Director of Communications—if the public knew the truth it would be mass fucking hysteria, and every cunt that can weasel alien tech into their hands would be the next supervillain splashed across the tabloids because they're trying to do good and cocked it all up."

"God, you _are_ serious…" Finch marveled. He pushed his chair back and tensed, as if he needed to dash out of the room at a second's notice. "I wonder how it will go over when I tell everyone else that the PM's pet project is actually a bunch of loonies, not just people we don't like."

"Correction: the PM is _our_ pet project. We were first, after all," Kate replied coldly. The fax machine on a table began spitting out paper, a page of which she took and placed it on the desk. "The overall goal of UNIT is to keep Earth safe, as well as competitive. Few interstellar communities are able to be completely transparent with their citizens and not risk either havoc or looking like asylum escapees, and unfortunately we're not one of them. By the end of the day you are going to retract your statement about cracking down on our spending habits and never mention a word of this ever again."

"What makes you think that?" Finch asked. He glanced quickly at the paper, then back up at Kate. "Is that the statement?"

"Your formal redaction as well as an apologetic resignation to make amends for causing such a benign and worthy group such hassle," she explained. Finch's eyes went wide and he stood up defensively.

"You can't do that!"

"I already have," Kate said.

"Just go down graciously," Malcolm advised. "I've helped along a number of resignations, and the best thing to do is just go by the script."

"You can't bully me—you can't touch me!"

"Oh, I'm worse than a bully … far worse than I've ever been in my life," Malcolm warned. "I'm her guard dog, and I'm _glad_ for it. Just take the little speech I wrote for you and go out to meet the press. They should be here right about now."

Finch blinked, unsure of what to do, before storming over to his window and looking down onto the street. Sure enough, there were press hounds standing there, waiting for someone to come out the door, and chances are it was him they were waiting for.

"I'm not going to go down quietly," he hissed. "Once I get all the dirt on you two, it's going to be everywhere that you're just a bunch of X-Files nutbags. We already have CCTV of this meeting."

"Those cameras haven't worked since the Thatcher administration; most of the replacements are just props to cut costs," Malcolm scoffed. He pointed at the camera in the corner of the office with a shit-eating grin. "Ever take a good look? Not even plugged in."

Finch narrowed his eyes as he peered at the device. To his horror, the little light in the corner of the box wasn't lit and there was no cord connecting it to anything. His nostrils flared in anger as he snatched the paper from the desk and stormed out the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Looks like that's that," Malcolm chuckled. He looked at Kate, who was still in bollocking mode, and frowned. "You alright?"

"I just can't stand men like him," she replied. "They're only concerned with who has the bigger stick and because they're in government they can do whatever they want. Thinking like that is never going to get anyone anywhere."

"We don't have to worry about him again, so don't worry," he said. "We'll make it work; the underlings are easy to mop up and issue gag orders against." Malcolm gently placed a hand on Kate's back, careful not to startle her. "We're fine, love. Your first resignation is difficult, but it gets easier after that."

"It's not about forcing him to resign… it's something more than that, but I can't put my finger on it."

"We've got the advantage, as we've got the keys to the future in our hands—he only _thinks_ he does." He waited until she looked at him before he leaned down slightly. She didn't back away, or scold him, or anything of the like. Instead, she leaned into him, letting him support her as they came dangerously close to contact as their faces drew closer.

"Ms. Stewart? Mister Tucker? I have instructions to lead you out, now that your meeting has concluded," an intern said as she opened the door. She found the two standing close together, looking over some papers from the fax machine that Kate still held in her hand.

"Ah, thank you," she said with a polite smile. Go with the flow—it was better to be escorted out instead of thrown out, since chances are she could always come back without a problem due to the former.

Kate and Malcolm followed the intern out, not giving her any opportunity to guess what she had just prevented with her impeccable timing. With another nod to Mick, they got back in their car, heading straight back to Mainframe UK.

"I still can barely believe you wrote that entire letter out _on your phone_ while we were there," she exhaled. "How the fuck did you do that?"

"A combination of doing it before and having a decent chunk already typed out and saved in a file," he admitted. "I'm just glad Aparajita was able to coordinate that while she was so worried. That Operation Golden Age business would have created more than just tabloid headlines, wouldn't it?"

"It very well could have destroyed us," she said. Kate leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, holding onto his hand. "Everything Dad and I worked for could have been gone in an instant."

"Who was your da? You never did tell me," Malcolm murmured, squeezing her hand.

"Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart; I dropped the first part so that I'd work my way up the ranks by myself."

" _He_ was your father…?" he marveled. He glanced over at Kate, completely flabbergasted. "The way people talk about him, it's like he's the patron-fucking-saint of Mainframe UK. I'd think that you'd be a bit more open about the relation now that you're the one in-charge…"

"No," she replied. "There's no point in tossing about his name while I can get things done with my own abilities. Dad wanted it that way, so that's how it's going to be."

"Well, I didn't have the honor of meeting him in real life, but at least I can glean from the stories around the watercooler that he was a good man," he said. "You're lucky—you knew your da your whole life growing up; I still have no clue who mine is and probably never will. Mam's just that kind of woman." The vehicle then pulled into the underground car park and stopped, idling so that the Director and PR Head could get out. "Hey, erm, are you doing anything after work Friday?"

She picked her head up off his shoulder and slid towards the door. "Picking up my daughter from the station—she's away at school, but comes home on weekends she's not with her father."

"Are you sure? Maybe I can…"

"Another time, Malcolm," she said. Kate gently gave him a pat on the knee, getting out before he had a chance to react. He reached out to touch her shoulder, just barely missing as she left. Getting out of the car himself, he watched as she got in the lift that brought her back into the fray of work. He slowly strolled over to the lift, making sure he put enough time between him and Kate. At least there was progress made, he thought as he finally pressed the button to go down. Maybe a cuppa with Glenn would be alright. Yeah… it probably would.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yikes, I really need to work on this more often.

* * *

 _Seven_

It was Sunday. Ah, Sundays: usually held in high regard thanks to how many office-twats were able to use it to have a lie-in and sleep off whatever it was they did on Saturday night to make them forget they were, well, office-twats. Even Malcolm Tucker, who was considered at the very _least_ an office- _cunt_ , was attempting to use the morning for that very purpose, except his mobile had decided otherwise.

As the device began screeching the Commodores in tinny, shitastic tones, Malcolm rolled over in his bed and attempted to reach for it. He'd toss it across the room had it not been for who the ringtone belonged to, and after some fumbling he was finally able to pick it up and put it to his ear.

"This better be good, love," he mumbled sleepily. "I was about to get laid by Jane Leeves and I don't want to miss it."

" _Let's talk about your wet dreams later—it's time to get to work_ ," Kate replied. " _I'm headed to the Mainframe right now and I think you better be there yourself._ "

Malcolm turned his head towards his alarm clock: 04:18. "Kate, it's ball-fuck early. Who's the cunt that decided to wake us up this fucking early in the morning?"

" _His name is_ _ **the Master**_ _and it doesn't look like the Doctor's anywhere in sight_ ," she said. " _Luckily for us, it only seems like one of his previous incarnations, one we've fought numerous times and know his methods. If it was a new face, you would have been called almost two hours ago._ "

"Whoever this Master is, he's gonna be fucking dead when I get done with him," he growled, throwing his sheets back. He'd been briefed on the Master before, in full detail, and between the information on him and the Doctor combined, Malcolm had decided he fucking hated Time Lords. Such illustrious dick-heads—it made him want to vomit.

Skipping the shower part of his normal routine, Malcolm dug around half-blind for his clothes. Trousers… no, trousers _without_ the new brown sauce stain the previous night's steak happily provided him, a shirt that smelled acceptable, and a fleece jumper. Yes, good, he could deal with that at the early hour. He left the flat no more than ten minutes after he hung up the phone with Kate and half an hour after that he was walking into Mainframe UK, poster-boy for all beings sleep-deprived, over-worked, and caffeine-charged.

"Scarfy, status report," he muttered through his takeaway coffee as he approached an Osgood. Though she was not the one with the scarf this time (that Scarfy was nowhere in sight), she handed him her clipboard and shrugged almost nonchalantly as the molemen were manning their stations.

"Classic Master take-over-the-world gambit, except this one involves some lupine extraterrestrials and test cricket," she explained. Malcolm blinked heavily at her, unsure he heard correctly. "Yeah, I know—apparently he thinks it's 1971 out there, so he's roaming around in a Nehru coat and flared trousers."

"So this is what Saint Alistair and the lot dealt with back then? Cocksuckers got all the fun, didn't they?"

"I think you'd be hard pressed to find one of us _other_ than Yates to have _sucked a cock_ , sir," came a chuckle. Malcolm glanced over his shoulder and saw Captain Benton, one of the last remnants of the days when UNIT was little more than a laughingstock and not quietly shushed aside as "a necessary internationally-and-domestically-funded entity". The old soldier's hair was nearing snow-white and looked thinner than the PR man the way his uniform hung on him.

"I told you, Old Man, don't call me 'sir'—I'm an untitled civilian—now what are you doing here? Isn't it past your bedtime? The nurses know you cracked your way out of the care home?"

"I was on an evening shift, but things got out-of-hand to the point where I had to call Director Stewart in," Benton said with a grin. "I actually should have left four hours ago."

"Then fuck the fuck off and get some rest, get felt-up by an orderly, _something_ that involves not being here."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Benton replied. It was then that Kate strutted into the atrium, a frown on her face as she stormed about, with Jac and the missing Scarfy trailing her.

"Benton! Why are you still on the premises?" she shouted from across the way. "Go home! You've done enough!"

"Not yet, Tiger," the old man smirked. "I'm sticking around until I can see that joker's face again. Call it ' _being_ _sentimental'_."

"I call it ' _lunacy'_ ," Malcolm snarked. By then the others had reached them and he was being passed a series of folders.

"Here's the information you'll need for your press releases," Jac said as she went through her paperwork. She handed Malcolm the last of his things and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "We're off to bag the nutter now."

"Give 'im a fucking smack for wakin' me up this early," he replied. "A morning, day, _and_ afternoon shift is no longer my idea of a normal stint at the office."

"It's not ideal for any of us, but here we are," Kate deadpanned. "Benton, since you're so eager to see your old friend, come with Jac and me. Osgoods, stay as you are. Malcolm, I want not a peep of this on the mid-morning newscasts, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said before walking off. He went up the lift to his office, which was dark and quiet and decidedly devoid of Aparajita. Placing the folders on the table, Malcolm turned on his desk lamp and got straight to work, reading through the papers and tapping out excuses and half-truths on his laptop. Sure enough, he was able to shush the commotion before his personal assistant even walked into the room carrying a tray with two large coffees.

"Heard you got in a bit early, so a peace offering," Aparajita said, placing one of the takeaway cups on the table. He took it with silent thanks, draining a third of the cup in one go. "That beat?"

"They should have finished with this clown back before Wee Malcolm started getting sweaty and tight in the trousers staring at the mags the lads were passing around the bog," he scowled.

"That sounds _gross_ ," she grimaced.

"That sounds like Wee Rajit never had to deal with the clusterfuck that is when lads approach the onset of puberty," he replied after another draught of the sweet life-nectar. "Cousin keep you safely away from that?"

"Raj is _still_ fairly protective, so yeah," she admitted. "Need me to do anything else?"

"Bring me a sacrificial intern every hour and I'll be fine," he joked half-heartedly. "Actually, can you get me Corporal Lethbridge-Stewart? He should be coming off his midnight soon, yeah?"

"If I call Security now, I might catch him before he leaves," she said, backing up and turning around towards her desk area. Five minutes later and Gordon came into the office looking rather confused.

"You wanted me, sir?"

"Again, it's _Malcolm_ , and would you mind doing an errand for me?" the older man asked. "I'd sent Rajit, but I need her here in case that lunatic your mam just tag-and-bagged decides high-security prison isn't his cup of tea."

"Yeah, no problem," the young man smirked. "Nothing too dangerous, is it?"

"Going to a flat in a nice part of town doesn't sound too fucking dangerous," Malcolm replied. He took the key to his flat off the ring and handed it to Gordon, giving the instructions to his flat. "I need proper clothes—nothing's in my cupboard and the only reason I'm in these trousers is because they don't have fucking HP on them."

"Being woken up for work'll do that," Gordon said sympathetically. "Got anything over there I should worry about? A pet or a nosy neighbor or anything the like that might attack?"

"A niece, but she should be at class by the time you get there," Malcolm said. Gordon gave him a confused look and he couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. "Nah, she's your age and a grad student. Either she's going to attend class today or teach it—never can figure out which it is with her—being a workaholic's in the sodding family."

"Okay then; should be back soon." Gordon then left the office, with Aparajita sliding her chair into view soon as the lift doors shut.

"You sent _Gordon_ to your place? Might as well be shouting after him to snog your poor niece while he's at it."

"If anything, she'd snog _him_ , though I doubt it—she's gone most mornings when I get up," he shrugged. "Lad's got a good survival rate otherwise."

Aparajita cocked an eyebrow. "You setting up your niece with him because his mum has been avoiding you?"

" _No_ ," he scoffed. "I trust Lex to find her own beaus to snog and Kate has nothing to do with it."

"Are you _surrre_?" she asked, using her foot to propel herself into the office. There was a cheeky smirk on her face, prodding him into elaborating. "You and Brigadier-Director Stewart have been rather stand-offish lately…"

"We have _not_ been stand-offish and you are going to take your nose and stick it elsewhere, because while it's in my business it's at risk to get chopped off and then what'll happen? You'll go paler than me and become a female fucking Voldemort, that's what."

"You're sour."

" _Aparajita Khan, return to your post_ ," he growled. His PA scowled and stood, rolling her chair back behind the wall and leaving him be. He didn't need this sort of flack from the coworker that he was supposed to work closest with, especially not this early in the morning with over four hours already clocked in. Malcolm stood and jammed his hands in his trouser pockets, storming towards the lift.

"Going for a walk," he growled as he walked past Aparajita.

"Do you want me to call when Gordon gets back?" she asked calmly.

"Yeah." He hit the button for the lift and waited patiently. A weight dropped in his gut and he knew he had to apologize, though doing so now would feel contrived. " _Please_."

"Not a problem—walk off some of that steam, okay?"

"Will do." The doors opened and he walked in. Malcolm stared at the lift buttons as he decided where to go. Dare he hit the one for the floor above?

Fuck it.

* * *

Half an hour of wandering the halls of Mainframe UK avoiding people that he'd rather not talk to, Malcolm found himself in the Raven Room, tinkering with one of the out-of-commission birds to calm his nerves. He'd always liked tinkering, even as a young lad. His mam always blamed him and his sister's tendency to take shit apart and fuck it all up on the fact their fathers were scientists. Which scientists, she never said, but her kids always took that as a good thing and never stopped despite their mother's insistence otherwise. Besides, politics had always felt like tinkering on a large scale, and it was something that comforted him no matter what.

As he soldered a circuit board with his pen, specs sitting on the tip of his nose, he heard the door open and shut. Malcolm didn't look up to see who it was, instead keeping his focus honed on the bird. The stool next to him moved and someone sat down. It wasn't until a whiff of perfume caught his nose did he know who it was that was there.

"Kate."

"Malcolm."

"Do you need something?"

She picked up part of a raven beak and studied it. "You know we have techs to do this, yeah?"

"Don't care," he muttered. "Always been good with this stuff."

"That doesn't matter—it's been too long since we properly talked," she said. "I only want to make sure we're on the same page here…"

"…which is…?"

"…that's what I need to know. What page are you on?" she wondered. Malcolm glanced over at Kate and saw her sitting there, back straight and shoulders square. She had her hair pulled back and in a blouse that looked cute on her. Yeah, he was aware enough to admit it: she looked fucking cute. He leaned towards her and pressed their lips together, pulling away to go back to work on the out-of-commission robot.

"That's the page I'm on," he elaborated, as if it hadn't been clear enough. "I'm surprised you don't have men tripping over themselves for a chance to be with you, 'cause you're one of the most bloody gorgeous women I've ever met, and that only covers how you handle yourself in a work emergency."

"Then how about dinner tonight?" she asked. She gently put her hand on his wrist, stopping his soldering. "Nothing fancy, I swear."

"Let's do takeaway at my place," he offered. "Don't have to bother Gordon while he's sleeping; I've already delayed his getting home with an errand, so it's the least I can do."

"You sent my _son_ on an errand? For what?" she asked incredulously. "What on earth did you need him to get?"

"A fresh change of clothes, though I haven't heard that he's gotten back yet." He checked his watch and raised a brow. "It's nearly three—he should have been back hours ago."

"I'll text him," she offered.

"Thanks—tell him to not bother if he hasn't gotten to it, but if he's on the way back to leave the stuff with Rajit." He watched as she typed the message out and sent it. "I would have sent her, but her talents are much better served here and there aren't many here I'd trust with the key to my flat."

"Will we still be able to get in?" Kate asked. "I can get the emergency key from Security if you want."

"Naw; Lex should be home by now—we can have her let us in and we can kick her out immediately after. She'd want to meet you anyhow."

"You know Gordon, so it's only fair," she agreed. The two then stood and left the dismantled raven for another time, going out the doors together after checking in with their respective PAs.

Malcolm then led Kate towards the Tube, getting off at a station not even a five minute walk to what he claimed to be the best curry place he had since uni. It as his treat, and not long after they walked out of the shop with their orders, they were riding the lift up to his flat. They approached the door and knocked, hoping that Lex would hear.

To their complete surprise, however, it was Gordon who answered.

"Help me," he said, not letting either his mother or coworker get in a word. He looked ready to cry, as though he'd been on the losing end of several failed escape attempts, not to mention as though he hadn't been allowed a wink of sleep since arriving earlier.

"What are you still doing here?" Malcolm wondered, pushing his way through into his flat. He glanced over at the television and saw that it displayed a DVD menu, while his niece was on the couch navigating the various options. She glanced over her shoulder, face lighting up at the sight of her uncle.

"Hey! You're home early!" she said cheerily. "I see you've met my new best friend, Gordon."

"I'm telling Kanda you said that," Malcolm fired back.

"Already sent her a selfie and a couple Snapchats—she approves of his addition to the group," Lex replied. She then noticed Kate and her brows arched. "Uncle Malc…?"

"This is Kate, Gordon's mam; now behave, because we've both had a long-ass day and are fucking beat."

"Fine, fine—I won't interrupt you two and your date… or whatever it is you're doing."

Another knock came at the door and it was a pizza delivery, which Malcolm and Kate ignored in favor of sitting down at the kitchen bar with their curries. Lex and Gordon began the movie on the sitting room couch with the pizza box between them and cracking open a couple beers, completely ignoring the older couple now sharing the flat with them. He was quiet, but when Malcolm finished off his food he leaned over and took Kate by the hand.

"Want to go have a lie-down? Sitting on stools all day has been murdering my back."

"I thought you'd never ask," she snorted. "These things might as well be classified as torture devices."

"Remind me of that when we've got some piece-of-shite extraterrestrial that needs interrogating and all the usual drudgery just turns 'em on," he joked. They cleaned up after themselves and went towards his bedroom, holding hands, breaking contact as they entered the room. Malcolm once again loaned Kate some pajamas and let her change in the ensuite, while he quickly shed what he wore to work in favor of flannel trousers and an old t-shirt. He laid down in his unmade bed just as she was coming out of the bathroom, her other clothes folded in a neat pile that she placed atop the dresser.

Sliding into bed, Kate let herself be enveloped by Malcolm's arms as she settled in. His body pressed up against her, his legs curving along her own and his nose in her hair, while he let out a content sigh.

"I'd suggest a shag, but I woke up too early for that shit."

"Shagging on the first lie-in is for teens," she teased. "It's better this way, what, with the kids in the room over." She thought on that for a moment, her lips pursing in a frown. "Did Alexandra really recruit Gordon into being her best friend, or should I be worried?"

"When my Lex says they're friends, she means they're friends—you don't have to worry about a thing," he assured her. He pressed a kiss to her hair and shimmied in closer, rubbing up against her. "Maybe a shag later?"

"We'll see, Tucker," she replied. "We'll see."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Here's a meaty chapter for everyone, complete with new characters!

* * *

 _Eight_

Kate woke up to her mobile buzzing on the nightstand, a panicked series of texts from an Osgood about an explosion in the labs. A follow-up message from the other Osgood said they were fine and not to worry. She let out a grumble from her throat as she replaced the mobile, rolling her eyes, and settled back in the bed. One of Malcolm's arms was laying on her waist, having been along her arm before she moved it, while his body was flush against hers. She could feel his breathing, soft and slow, and his hard prick jutting out against her leg. It felt good to feel someone in bed with her again, not simply sharing a bed—like she had done many times with her children while holidaying with limited budgets—but actually being _with_ someone… it was satisfying.

After laying there a while, simply enjoying the moment, Malcolm took a deep breath and stirred, pulling her even closer and smiling against the back of her neck. "Morning," he hummed.

"Morning," she echoed. Kate rolled over and looked him in the face. His eyes were unfocused and his hair a mess, but his grin was genuine as he pecked her lips with his. "You seem terribly satisfied."

"I woke up with you in my arms; how can't I be?" he replied. Hazily, he leaned in and began to kiss her. It was sloppy and clumsy from not being fully awake, yet she reciprocated, finding the whole thing amusing more than anything else. She shifted him onto his back and settled herself atop him, relishing how pliable he was making things.

"Enjoying the view, Tucker?" she asked, straightening so she was sitting upright and on his hips. He gazed up at her dreamily before nodding.

"I'm fucking dead, aren't I?" he chuckled. He placed his hands on her hips, allowing his fingers to splay out along her waist and arse. "One of the ravens pecked me to death and this is me fantasizing on the way down to Hell."

"I wouldn't say that now," she laughed. She leaned back down, pinning his shoulders with her elbows, continuing to kiss him. "I could be an angel and you're on your way to Heaven."

"That's a fallacy if I've ever heard one," he said, taking one hand and running his fingers through her hair. "The only part of that shit I believe in is that there's a Hell, and we're all either living in it, or headed towards it."

"Remind me to leave you out of the group attending Christmas Service when the time comes," she replied. They kept on kissing, letting their hands wander about, when Lex opened the door, having forgotten there was a guest other than hers.

"Hey Uncle Malc I—oh fuck!" she gasped, immediately wrenching her eyes shut. "Sorry! I didn't mean to…!"

"Fucking hell, Lex, we're decent," Malcolm groaned. "What's going on?"

"I just wanted to know if you wanted eggs, since I'm scrambling some," she said, refusing to open her eyes. The young woman fumbled around until she found the door frame, backing out into the hall. "Would you like some eggs too… erm…?"

"Call me Kate," the older woman said, "and yes, please."

"Okay, see you in a bit!" They could then hear Lex scurry off, not even bothering to close the bedroom door. "Shit… it's like she never expects you to have anyone over."

"That's because I haven't for a long time," he admitted. They both began to get up and ready for the day, with Malcolm stretching and Kate heading to the ensuite with her clothes. "You read my dossier; divorce wasn't easy on me."

"Divorce isn't easy on most people, but I had assumed you at least dated afterwards… get a decent shag in every once in a while… but that it ended before the Inquiry or wasn't noteworthy enough to dig up."

"Fuck naw; not all that interested in women after that and never had been interested in men aside from the odd thought. It took me a while to get rid of the ring, but once I did I never even bothered looking." He pulled off his shirt and began rummaging around his closet for a fresh one. "It was easier that way with the job and all."

"Sounds lonely."

"You have no idea, love."

Kate came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and ready for the day, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Actually, I have a very good idea, considering Fiona's father left when she was three, and I did plenty without anyone by my side."

"Your daughter, I take it?"

"My daughter, Gordon's half-sister," she elaborated. "Gordon and Fiona don't have the same father—you can say I've had awful luck with men."

"Hopefully I break that streak," he said. "I'm not the best, but I like to think this old dog still has a bit of good in him."

"Besides being a good guard dog? I imagine so," she said, chuckling quietly. Kate then left the room and headed towards the kitchen, which allowed Malcolm some time to think.

' _This better be a good move, Malc_ ,' he thought as he switched pants. He tried to psyche himself up with a pep-talk, getting into the right headspace. ' _You're both damaged, but she's smart enough to pull out when it's a wash. This is a career to retire from, fucking satisfied with a job well-done, or die in, and fucking this up would mean hellish work for the rest of your days_.'

He finished dressing and shuffled his way into the kitchen to get some coffee. Kate was sitting patiently at the breakfast bar, scrolling through her mobile, while Lex was scrambling eggs. Gordon was also there, sitting next to his mother and looking as though he had been run over by a train.

"You alright there, lad?" Malcolm asked as he poured some coffee. "Need some of this?" Gordon grunted unintelligibly in reply.

"Yes, and he always looks like this," Kate said dully, not even glancing up from her mobile. "His father is the exact same way."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Malcolm replied, placing the mug in front of Gordon. The young man made a thankful noise and sipped it slowly. "So I take it you stayed over too late as well?"

"Watching movies, honest," Lex assured with a laugh. "I think when Kanda comes for a visit, the three of us need to have another marathon. Wouldn't that be neat?" Gordon gave her a silent thumbs-up and she started to divvy up the eggs between the four plates she had sitting on the counter. "Good; when you've woken up a bit, we can start planning."

"Don't throw too much on him right off, or he'll run the opposite direction, and I won't fucking blame him," Malcolm teased. He sat down on the other side of Kate, letting their shoulders and thighs brush against each other. "Anything happen while we were asleep?"

"An Osgood almost burned Research and Development to the studs; nothing out of the ordinary." She glanced over at Lex, raising an eyebrow. "How much about our work do you know?"

"You're funded by the UN with supplements from the Crown, Granny says you're a bunch of dangerous wanks, you seem to have a scientific division along with a military one, and when weird shit goes down you tend to pop up like the Ghostbusters or something like that," she shrugged. "I tried looking into what UNIT does for sure, but I can't get very far by regular sources online."

"Think of us like the Ghostbusters, but for extraterrestrial life and everything sentient and non-human on Earth," Kate clarified. "I would think now that your uncle and I are dating and you've adopted my son into your friend-group, you should be entitled to know."

"…but I still can't tell Mam and Granny, yeah?"

"Marcia can't know, 'cause she'd cock up somehow, but no one can hide a damn fucking thing from your granny," Malcolm muttered through his eggs. "It wouldn't surprise me if she worked _with_ UNIT before she went into journalism."

"Lex was telling me about Missus Tucker last night," Gordon mumbled, finally able to form actual words. "She sounds like she was the lady version of James Bond."

"Almost, but don't let her hear you call her Missus," Malcolm warned. "She was very proud of the fact she raised two kids by herself while still holding down a full-time job back when it was unheard of."

"Where was your dad then?" Gordon wondered.

"Fucked if I know," Malcolm scoffed. "Never had one; don't even know his name. My sister found hers a couple years ago out of curiosity, but I've never been inclined to search."

"You mean… you didn't grow up with your granddad around?" Gordon frowned. He stared at his friend in concern. "Once I met my granddad, I could barely be parted from him."

"Considering he didn't know Mam and I existed, I'm not that bent out of shape about it," Lex said casually. "Besides, he was East German—would've had to defect to help raise Mam."

"Almost did too, just to be with Granny," Malcolm chuckled. He sighed inwardly, enjoying the feeling the conversation was giving him. It was like they were a family already.

' _No, don't count on that_ ,' he reminded himself. ' _Concentrate on_ _ **her**_ _, Malc. The kids are incidental_.'

"I think," Malcolm said aloud, "that Kate and I should probably head on down to work. You about ready, love?"

"Just about," Kate replied. She knocked back the rest of her tea and kissed her new beau on the lips before headed towards the flat door. "Better not go in together after the first night—don't want there to be a riot."

"What; the Scarfys might discover there is a better love than science?"

"Down, boy," she said. Kate closed the door behind her and she was gone.

"So you're… dating?" Gordon wondered. "Since when?"

"Since yesterday afternoon, and I think we're in the 'trying things out' stage," Malcolm admitted. "Are you alright with that?"

"If it means Mum's happy, then yeah," the younger man said, completely nonchalant. "It's my sister you have to watch out for—she doesn't really like sharing Mum."

"You have a sister?!" Lex gasped happily.

"She's almost fifteen and no, you can't invite her over too—chances are she'll either be at school or at her dad's," Gordon replied defensively. Malcolm smirked as he sipped his coffee and watched the two youngsters bicker over the breakfast bar. At least get-togethers weren't going to be awkward when it came to them.

* * *

Twenty minutes of Lex and Gordon sniping at one another like a pair of actual siblings was all Malcolm could take before he left his flat to head towards Mainframe UK. London congestion seemed fairly normal and no one either noticed nor cared when he veered off into the nondescript building that contained the entrance that he utilized. Everything was positively routine as he walked in and navigated his way down into the Mainframe, though he tried hard to make sure to not reveal the extra pep in his step, for Malcolm Tucker was head-over-heels with his boss and she was _reciprocating_.

"Tucker! There you are!" Kate's voice carried through the atrium as he crossed it, leading him over to where she was standing next to a stout, balding, Indian man in a military kit. "I need to introduce you to the new brass that Geneva transferred over; this is Colonel Ahmed. Colonel, this is Malcolm Tucker, our Head of Public Relations. He's often referred to as Head of Communications, and holds the honorary rank of Lieutenant Colonel during military distress."

"How badly did you fuck up to get sent to this shithole?" Malcolm grinned as he shook the man's hand. The newcomer stared at him in an attempt to read the stranger.

"I put in for a transfer," Ahmed replied stiffly. "Mainframe Gujarat was getting a bit crowded for my tastes. The United Kingdom works well for me, as the visa didn't need to have too many strings pulled."

"Welcome aboard, Ahmed. You got a first name?"

" _Mohammed Jan ibn Tariq Ahmed_ ," he said, purposefully laying a thick accent on, "but you can call me 'Colonel Ahmed', or 'sir'."

"Point made," Malcolm said, scrunching his nose in defeat. "If you have any questions regarding how to address the media here compared to Gujarat, let me know."

"Thank you; I plan on it." Colonel Ahmed then turned towards Kate and bowed his head slightly. "Now if you excuse me, Brigadier-Director, I'd like to get some work done." He walked away, which allowed Malcolm and Kate to head into the lift together.

"Fucking tit—I was only trying to be friendly," he muttered soon as the doors shut. "Am I not allowed to be friendly?"

"Back off—it's probably due to how things were run in Gujarat more than anything else," she replied. "I hear the Brigadier in charge there runs a tight program and chances are Ahmed put in for the transfer just to get away from it."

"If that's the case, I'll give him a month. If he doesn't let up and show signs of a brain by then, he's on my shit list."

"Don't bully your superiors, dear."

"I didn't ask for the rank, and if he cocks up, then I'll treat him like the rest of the cock-ups." The doors opened and he stepped out, spinning around to watch her. "That's why you broke me out of fucking prison, yeah?"

"I'm starting to wonder," she snarked, allowing the doors to shut. Malcolm spun back around and saw Aparajita sitting at her desk, a highly satisfied expression plastered all over her face.

"Your place or hers?" she asked.

"Mine," he beamed. "Too beat for a shag by the time we got there, but that's alright; her and I are on the same page now."

Aparajita grinned and raised her arms, looking at the ceiling in relief. "Mum's advice _finally_ worked, for _once_."

"…and what advice is that?"

" _'Pray to Mother Kali and she will help her children as all mothers try to, destroying the bad so that good may happen'_ ," she recited. "The woman is super-old-school, but it pays off now and then."

"Hey, at least that means plenty of good food at all times," Malcolm chuckled. He then paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at her. "You talk about my personal life with your mam?"

"I have to talk to her about _something_ that goes on around here—she doesn't want to hear about the aliens and shit."

"Wasn't _her dad_ the one in UNIT?"

"…and now all he babbles on about is the missions and things he had to go on, or at least the less normal parts of them," she shrugged. She then tapped the side of her head, continuing, "Daadaajee's pretty conked out, but he's physically fit enough to outlast _Mum_ if he tried."

"Your granddad and my mam would be _excellent_ friends; should introduce them sometime," Malcolm joked. Aparajita laughed and they commenced with their workday, which went incident-free until the last ninety minutes of the day…

… _the monthly staff meeting_.

Malcolm sat sourly in his chair to the left of Kate's spot at the head of the table. He felt lucky that had been his chair the entire time, which meant he could casually start casually touching her from underneath the table. He had the toe of his shoe idly running up and down her left calf unseen as she conducted the meeting, all the while on his mobile, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.

Things were going about as well as he would have expected. Glenn was there, not making waves if he could help it, as well as the new Colonel Ahmed, which was odd to him considering the other colonel assigned to Mainframe UK barely ever bothered to show up. There were a few others there, most of whom he didn't know that well on account of them not being total cockups, though that was still up for debate. Sometimes it took a while for one to reveal their true cuntish nature (or twatish, considering there was a decent spread of ladies amongst the Mainframe staff whom Malcolm credited with the facility's general efficiency), and the PR Head knew that the over half a year he'd been there at that point wasn't even close when it came to ferreting such people from dropping their facades.

Captain Blythe, Mainframe UK's senior-most naval officer—whom Malcolm was still trying to decide on whether she killed a man or merely cut bitches during her decades of ladder-climbing—was giving her report when a shrill noise interrupted both her and the meeting. The Head of Security and Surveillance's mobile was ringing, causing everyone to stare at him.

"We're waiting, Frank," Kate said, urging him to answer. He did, almost immediately jumping at the sound of whoever it was on the other end.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, boyo," Frank said. "I'm puttin' her on speaker." He placed the mobile down on the conference table and activated speakerphone. "Alright now, go on."

" _Mum! I've got bad news!_ " It was Gordon, who sounded panicky beyond belief. Kate cleared her throat in disapproval, glaring at her son through the device. " _I mean, bad news, Brigadier-Director_."

"What is it, Corporal?" she asked.

" _I've got a man down here who's demanding entry to the Mainframe and the Black Archive. I don't know how he got here, but he even has one of the PM's cards_."

"Did you put it under the nanoscanner?" Frank checked.

" _Twice—it's one of the ones that mean business. We don't_ _ **have**_ _anyone scheduled to come down from Whitehall, and if they did, none of them would mention the Archive_ _ **by name**_ _. What do I do?_ "

"I can take care of him if you want, Brigadier-Director, ma'am," Frank offered. Kate contemplated it for a moment before shaking her head.

"No, leave him to me," she ordered firmly. "If he's from Whitehall, then I'll keep Tucker with me to spook him, but otherwise I think this is one of those instances where I have to mindwipe someone myself. Escort him to my office."

"… _but_ _ **Mum**_ …"

"Escort him to my office, _now,_ _ **Corporal**_ ," Kate demanded. She stood and reached across the table, ending the call. "Meeting is in recess until I can sort this out; Tucker, come with me, and the rest of you can return to your posts until I send word to reconvene."

Dead silence fell over the room as Kate stormed out of the conference room and into the corridor, Malcolm on her heels. He waited until they were out of earshot before he began hissing in anger.

"I don't know who the PM sent, but whoever it is I'm going to make them piss their pants begging to be let free before I toss them at the Scarfys and their burned-down torture chamber."

"Be a silent menace at first, okay?" Kate suggested as they entered the lift back to the office. "You are capable of that, aren't you? Or is it just loud Scottish noises that occasionally form foul phrases?"

"Kate, love, have some faith in me," he replied, giving her a charming grin. "I've got eyebrows that are their own independent state of crossness and I'm a fucking savant at whisperboarding—you haven't even _seen_ my full arsenal." They entered her office and had her PA stand guard in case the visitor wasn't going to behave while so close to his goal. The waiting was tense, only broken by Morton poking her head in.

"Ma'am, Corporal Lethbridge-Stewart and the guest have arrived."

"Show them in," she replied, voice firm and raised for the benefit of the visitor. Malcolm hid behind the door and watched as Gordon led in a familiar mop of black curls atop a rumpled suit and pair of specs. While the Security lad saw the PR Head, their visitor had his eyes directly on Kate.

"Hello there Ms. Stewart; I'm Oliver Reeder, Director of Communications for the Opposition," he said cordially, holding out his hand. When Kate didn't shake it, preferring to stand with her arms folded across her chest, he took it back with a nervous laugh. "Thanks for taking time to see me. You're probably wondering why I'm here—"

"Get on with it; I've got a staff meeting that's on hold because of you."

"Right, well, I'm part of this multi-party committee that is investigating all of the paramilitary and scientific organizations in the UK that are not responsible for the wellbeing of the Crown or Commonwealth. Since I've heard a bit of rumbling about some… _interesting tech_ UNIT has locked away, I'd like to discuss it with you, you know, make sure everything is on the up-and-up."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I'm being loyal to the best interests of my country and planet?"

Another awkward noise came out of Ollie and he shrugged, clearly spooked by her cold stare. "O-Of course not! It's just, you know, what, with the Americans shouting about 'weapons of mass-destruction' and the tense situation we have right now in the Middle East…"

"You're not in a multi-party committee, are you?" Malcolm asked, stepping out from behind the door. Ollie blanched, eyes going wide and entire body rigid, at the sound of his voice. Malcolm casually walked up behind Ollie and rested his arm along his shoulders, leaning into him. "So, how's it been as Dan Miller's fuck-boy? Was it everything you wanted and more?"

"I didn't think the rumors were true," Ollie said. He was attempting to keep his cool, but Malcolm saw the sweat begin to bead on his temple. "If you were back, I would have seen you by now."

"Meaning you missed my press conference on the 'downed paper lantern' that everyone thought was a meteor destroying a farm? For shame."

"Your release on parole wasn't scheduled for years yet."

"…a benefit of having international overrides and it actually being beneficial to the Crown to place him in my care instead of Her Majesty's," Kate smirked. "I get a seasoned government worker, truly talented and knowledgeable in his career field, while at the same time he's not only being rehabilitated, but is a productive member of society and not needlessly leeching precious funds from elsewhere." Malcolm pushed himself off Ollie's shoulder, making the younger man stumble in the process, and stood behind her to glare at their visitor from just past her ear. "You know I was handling this perfectly fine on my own."

"Yeah, which is why I interrupted; still want the satisfaction of getting the Poxbridge twat to piss his pants, and it smells like I succeeded." He chuckled lowly, nearly pressing himself up against her back. "I really do miss that smell."

"What, the smell of piss?" Ollie grimaced.

" _Fear_ ," Malcolm corrected. His old coworker swallowed hard, his face clearly in panic mode.

"Now, we're going to start this again," Kate cut in. "Why are you here?"

"I… uh… wanted information about what you store in the Black Archive."

"What do you know about the Black Archive?"

"With a name like that, it can't be good…?"

"Would you believe us if we said it was named after the first archivist, whose name _happened_ to be 'Black'?"

Ollie took a deep breath, steadying himself. "No."

"How about we color-code our archives, dependent on dating protocol?" Malcolm offered.

"…no…?"

"Then I don't know what we can do for you," Kate said. She slid her hands in her pockets, discreetly palming a small device. A smile crept across her face as Malcolm placed her hands on her waist, which Ollie caught, cringing in disgust.

"Fuck… you're _together_ too? I didn't take you as someone who'd sleep his way to the top, Tucker."

"Don't compare me to you, fetus-child," Malcolm growled. "Not only am I actually _able_ to reach and keep my position with my own abilities, but it would be an insult to my wonderful lady-friend, let alone _any_ woman, to consider her little more than a wet cunt and a ladder rung."

"You put things so eloquently," Kate purred. She took the device and began tapping out the settings with her thumb. "Malcolm, for fuck's sake, you're hard off this?"

"Oops, you've got me," he replied. "Could never keep it to myself when someone truly dangerous and competent swaggers her way into my life."

"…and to think you never shagged any of your government cohorts over the years. I would have thought your personal assistant, what was her name…?"

"Sam, and she was never on my radar due to her disposition of a wee, hyper-competent, lamb; _I_ was the dangerous of the duo."

"Not that I want to interrupt your lovers' tiff, but what are you going to do with me?" Ollie wondered.

"I'm going to tell you precisely what the Black Archive is," Kate said dully. The Black Archive is a tech storehouse featuring devices of nonhuman make and design. There is not a single Black Archive, but actually several of them across the globe in the hands of other UNIT Mainframes varying in size and allegiance. I may have a nerve gas to wipe out the entire Zygon population on Earth, but I'm not going to use it unless _absolutely_ necessary, considering the fact that I know Moscow alone has human genome marker-based superviruses… and the _Americans_ … don't get me started on those hoarders."

"Wait… what's a Zygon?" Ollie asked. He took a couple steps forward and squinted, as if it would help him ear better.

"A Zygon is an extraterrestrial sentient species whose home planet has been destroyed; we have some refugees here on Earth, registered with Geneva of course, living out their daily routines right under your overeducated nose. Now if you want something terrestrial _and_ sentient non-human, my main suggestion would be to contact some Silurians."

"He wouldn't fucking know a Silurian if she smacked him in the face for ripping off her veil."

"It's a _niqab_ , Malcolm, and we're _very_ lucky that we have such good friends in North Africa who are willing to help resettle refugees in places not only warm enough, but where someone can walk into their village and not know they're talking with an ancient reptile."

"Fuck this—I'm leaving," Ollie said. He spun around to leave, only to have Gordon step in front of him.

"Not so fast; forget I'm here?" He forcibly turned Ollie to face his mother, holding him in place. "Don't think you're getting out of this that easy."

Before Ollie could protest, and he really did want to, Kate was done programming the device in her hand and pointed it at him, hitting the intruder in the dead-center of the forehead. Ollie's body went rigid, his mind placidly being wiped by the tiny piece of tech.

"Good shot," Gordon nodded, impressed. "Sure you don't want to come to target practice with me?"

"I'm sure," Kate smirked. She then broke into an outright giggle when Malcolm pressed his body closer to hers, kissing her neck. "Malcolm, _please_ , I'm still in a _moment_."

"Oh, and I loved how you were in that moment," he replied against her skin.

"I'm still here," Gordon reminded them. Malcolm simply flicked one of his middle fingers at the lad.

"Escort the vegetative state off the premises; your mam and I have a few things to settle first."

" _Enough_ ," Kate demanded, pushing him away. She crossed the room to where her son was and walked with him and Ollie to the lift doors. "I need to have a chat with Tucker about both his behavior and this Reeder character, _then_ I think the meeting can finish up. I'd give it about half an hour."

"Alright Mum—I'll make sure Frank knows." Gordon flinched when he heard her clear her throat. "I'll make sure to pass the word along, Brigadier-Director."

"That's better," she said with an approving smile. Kate then told her assistant that she was not to be disturbed and closed the door behind her, making her and Malcolm the only two people in the room. She locked her line of vision with his, walking towards him with a steely expression that he couldn't read.

"Aw, fuck… I did something wrong, didn't I?" He grimaced as she took hold of his tie and led him towards the far wall. She stopped about a foot away and turned around.

"One: behave yourself in front of my children. We're all adults here, but Gordon is still my child."

"Noted."

"Two: I know it was in the moment, but try to behave yourself at work, because believe it or not, I actually want us to be able to get stuff done without our coworkers staring at us, trying to unsee something we let slip."

"Prick stays soft—got it."

"Three," she continued, "If you can't keep it in your trousers…" She hit a spot on the wall behind her, triggering a mechanism that opened a door hidden discreetly within the wall paneling. "…I guess we'll have to take care of that the old-fashioned way, won't we?"

"Okay," he replied, voice cracking.

Behind Kate sat what was technically a panic room, but it wasn't uncommon for those who had them to sleep there overnight instead of at the barracks in case of an extra-long work day. Malcolm already had done so a couple times in his, which was situated inside the cupboard where he kept his spare suits and whatnot, though it was clear that Kate had made sure she was comfortable as possible for such nights. Gone was the IKEA shit with names unpronounceable that furnished his, but there was shit made of real wood, with everything around that made it look more like a studio apartment than anything. The door closed and he felt compelled to take off his shoes and set them to the side of the area rug that covered most of the concrete floor.

" _Fuck_ ," he said as he glanced around. There was a desk with computers and paper files both, with a filing cabinet next to it, a kettle perched happily on top. Bookshelves sat to the side next to a hutch, which had dishes and everything for a decent cuppa. A couple tasteful lamps and tables (with and without lace doilies) and chairs were throughout the rest of the room, though nothing did quite catch his attention like the bed. It was a real mattress—not the standard-issue slab of thin foam in his room—and the linens made him want to lie down and actually take a nap.

"One of the perks of having been at my post for a while: I've had the time to decorate," she smirked. "You like the setup?"

"The bed's a fucking single-sleeper; you couldn't ask them to upgrade for the lady in charge?"

"Oh, I think we can make do." Kate eased Malcolm down to sit on the bed and settled herself in his lap, straddling him and draping her arms around his neck as she leaned in to kiss him. He kissed back, cupping her arse. She eased her hands underneath his jacket collar and slid it off his shoulders. He leaned back and hit his head against the metal wall, nearly biting both their tongues.

"Alright, we're doing this properly," he announced, voice low and throaty. He pulled his jacket out from under him and hung it on the bedpost, sliding himself so that he was laying down lengthwise on the mattress. Kate kept up with him, going straight for his belt.

"I'll admit, I was pretty impressed with how you made him cower with the sound of your voice," she murmured. "It was clear you stepping in saved plenty of hassle on my end."

"Conditioned the shitstain during my time in politics," he said. His nose was buried between her breasts as he tried to work a rather difficult button loose. "Fucking Pavlov would've been proud."

"Good boy."

He smiled against her skin—things were good alright.

* * *

Kate walked into the conference room, confidence overflowing from how she held herself. She took her seat at the head of the table and watched as everyone else sat down in imitation. "Is everyone here?"

"It looks like we're just missing Tucker," Jac Forrest, Head of Technology and Maintenance, said. "We thought he was with you."

"He said he needed to do something before coming back and that was five minutes ago," Kate bluffed. She then turned towards her son's supervisor. "Did Gordon tell you what happened?"

"Yeah—he handled the situation well, calling up when he couldn't get the guy to leave on his own—followed all the proper protocols," Frank replied. "He's a bit of a wreck some days, but he's got what it takes, I know it."

"Excellent. Now, Captain Blythe, do you remember where you left off?"

"Yes, I did, thank you," Blythe nodded. She was about to continue where she'd been cut off when Malcolm walked through the door, looking terribly disheveled and a distant expression on his face. "Son, what happened to you?"

"Hmm…?" He glanced down himself, noting that his tie was loose and crooked and his shirt still rumpled. "Oh… bog."

"You ruined your hair in the toilet too?" she gently sniped. He felt the top of his head and realized that it was all sticking up, which he attempted to flatten on his way back to his seat.

"Bored, is all," he replied. Malcolm sat and allowed Captain Blythe to continue. Glenn, who was sitting on the other side of him, leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Do we want to know?"

Malcolm turned to him and grinned impishly. "Nope… not one bit."

* * *

A/N: While many people around the globe are familiar with feminine head coverings in various forms (Islamic hijab, Christian habits, those plastic rain caps old ladies wear to protect their perm, etc.), sometimes we forget that there are men's coverings as well even in the modern day. The Silurians Kate and Malcolm mentioned during Ollie's bollocking were relocated to an area in the vicinity of the Sahara (remember that reptiles aren't warmblooded) where men cover their faces as well, some purely to keep sand off them, some for religious/modesty purposes. Often sweat from the wearer leeches dye from these turban-scarf-combo pieces of headgear, altering one's skin color. This means that a community of Silurians clad in dark greens as a "traditional color" can potentially get away with living semi-openly without compromising their identities using shimmers (think Madam Vastra and her Victorian veil, but the North Africa version). Compare that to the Zygons and… well… we all know how that went.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Nope, this isn't dead yet.

* * *

 _Nine_

Walking into Mainframe UK together, Malcolm and Kate didn't bother hiding the fact they were officially dating; it was not as though they flaunted the fact, though they had also decided that avoiding one another while at work would be worse. A quick kiss in the lift before Malcolm exited into his office, and they were ready to start the day.

"Looks like your date went better than mine," Aparajita joked as she held out a stack of papers.

"What about that one guy… what was his name…"

"Sid? Dropped him like a fucking ton of bricks when I found out he changed it himself from Sidney to Siddhartha to be ' _more worldly_ '… and on the night I was getting ready to finally shag him too."

"Let me know when I need to have Lex start keeping an eye out amongst the postgrads for you," Malcolm offered. He took the papers with him into the inner office and flopped down in what should have been too comfy of a chair for his desk. Most of it was inter-Mainframe memos, which he would gladly take over calls for emergency press conferences and damage control. There was one in particular that happened to catch his eye, however, and it unsettled him.

 _Geneva_.

"Uhh, Rajit…?"

"What's wrong? You sound like it's an emergency," she replied, rolling her own chair into view.

"Why the fuck are we getting a general in from Geneva next month?" he wondered. "I thought we just _had_ someone sent over."

"…oh, you mean General Bambera," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Colonel Ahmed was just someone Geneva _transferred_ —General Bambera likes to pop in now and then since this was her old assignment… her home base, if you will. We like to go all-out when she does, make it special, you know."

"You had me shitting my pants there for a second," he scowled. "Make a memo for the memo next time something like that's gonna happen, alright?"

"Sorry; thought you knew." Aparajita shrugged noncommittally before rolling back to her station, Malcolm flipping her two fingers along the way. "She's really no-nonsense—you'll like her."

"I better after she scares me like that."

"Jealous."

"Fuck off." Malcolm was about to let off a string of foul yet hollow threats about giving Mister Worldly her personal work number when his mobile started chirping— _Glenn_. "Shit; what does he want now?" He swiped the call through and turned around in his chair, looking out onto the atrium below. "Men's Hairloss Helpline."

" _Don't give me that fucking crock—you and the boss have been acting weird all week and now I_ _ **know**_ _why!_ "

"…because nothing major's been happening since that backstabbing little cuntdrip tried to work his way in here and it's getting boring?"

" _You two walked in together and she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday_ ," Glenn said accusingly. " _She has multiple dark pantsuits, but that was the_ _ **same one**_ _. You are_ _ **shagging the boss**_ _!_ "

"…and what if I am…?"

" _Jesus fuck, Malcolm! Do you have a death wish?! She can put you right back into prison if you fuck this up!_ "

"…and it's a good thing the only thing that's getting fucked up is _me_ , by my wonderful lady-friend as she rides me so hard I can't see straight afterwards," Malcolm smirked. He knew the look of horror that was spreading across the other man's face, judging by the silence on the other end of the call. "You know, I get that sex is a power trip for some cunts, but there's really something to be said about letting the woman do what she does best."

" _You're fucking disgusting_."

"…and you're a nosy fucking busy-body of a granny who needs to know all the gossip or else she might keel over."

" _I've made it my business to not get my nose dirty—not since I resigned from those cocksuckers' payroll_."

"Looks a little brown with a hint of yellow to me; did someone eat sweetcorn for dinner last night?"

" _If you're shagging her, then the least you can do is treat her right_ ," Glenn sighed in resignation. " _Any of your shenanigans and I'll come up there and kick your arse myself_."

"She's got kids to defend her honor for you—besides, the only shenanigans I'm going to get up to are the kind you are not going to want to hear about… or you do… I don't know, you could've become a fucking pervert in your advanced age. Listen, got to do some actual work before the long weekend of sin that lies ahead of me—some of us get paid for more than making tea you know—so ta!"

Malcolm ended the call and slid his mobile back into his pocket, turning his chair around to face his desk again. Aparajita then came in with some coffee and set it on his desk with a smirk.

"Making the Head of IT question life again?" she asked.

"You know me," he replied, lifting his cup in a salute. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

"Stop fidgeting," Kate ordered with a smirk. She turned the car down a lane while Malcolm sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat. It was Friday afternoon and he had an overnight bag in the boot—territory long-gone uncharted within his personal life.

"I can't help it; going to a woman's place for the first time isn't always an easy thing for a man, you know?" he replied. He tried to keep occupied by staring out the window, but it was no use. "How much farther do you live, anyhow?"

"Not very—it was my father's place, once upon a time, and now it's mine."

"Wasn't aware he was the kind who liked living in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"It's nice enough… ah, here we are," she grinned. Kate went into the drive and parked in front of a large-ish house, one with pristine landscaping and a carefully-maintained exterior. Putting the car in park and killing the engine, she glanced over at her beau. "Well, this is it."

"Makes my flat look like a shitty little hole in the wall," he snorted. "Your da got a _nice_ pension, didn't he?"

"A nice pension, plus he taught maths at the local school after retiring from UNIT," she said. They both got out of the car and she opened the front door while he fetched his bag from the boot. "My father and his second wife were in assisted living together, meaning I took over things here informally until he passed. It really is a nice place, once you can stay around long enough to appreciate it."

"…and that doesn't happen often in our line of work," he finished. He followed her in, noting that the inside was just as well cared-for as the outside, if a little dusty, much like his house from before the Inquiry fucked everything over tended to look. Up the stairs and towards the master bedroom, where he deposited his bag just inside the door before making a beeline for Kate's hips and lips, ready for action.

"Whoa, hold on there," she laughed, gently pushing away. "Gordon's picking up Fiona and I thought we'd have a nice evening in, _then_ get to the good stuff."

"…while your kids are here…?" he frowned. They walked out of the room, heading back down the stairs.

"Their bedrooms are on the other side of the house _and_ it's well-insulated. You could murder someone in one of these places and still not have anyone hear the room over." She led Malcolm over to the sitting room couch, where they sat down snugged up together while she put a black and white movie on the television. "You seem to be the sort of man who knows that good things happen to those who have patience."

"Yeah, but I'd rather be as well-fucked as a randy teen if I can help it," he joked. He kissed the side of her head and held her close, paying more attention to the perfume she wore and the feel of her waist underneath his hand than the movie. It was one he'd seen before, so it didn't matter much to him; all he cared about was making sure he didn't fuck up his first time over at her place.

Time had passed—Malcolm wasn't entirely sure how long—when he could hear the front door open and the sound of extra people coming into the house. Kate stood as a teen girl came into the room, the two of them hugging tightly.

"How's it going, Mum?" the teen asked, having not noticed the visitor on the couch.

"Well enough—you know how it is," Kate replied. She then turned towards Malcolm, extending her arm towards him as he also stood up. "Malc, this is my daughter and youngest, Fiona." He wrapped his arm around her waist while she mimicked the motion, it all seamless. Fiona's eyebrows shot up almost instantly, seemingly impressed.

"You're seeing someone? _Finally_?" the teen marveled. "I thought Gordy was just joking… it's been a while since what's-his-face…"

"You mean your father? Yes, it has been a bit since him, now hasn't it?" She glanced at Malcolm, who was attempting to not burst out laughing. "Watch this one—she's nearly fifteen and not afraid of anything."

"Wonderful age," he commented, "and I hope she's having as much fun as I did back then." He held out his hand towards the teen. "With any luck we might even be able to get along."

Fiona shook Malcolm's hand with an amused expression. "So then _very Scottish_ ; Granddad would have approved, even if you were one of those political jockeys back in a past life." Her grin only widened as his face darkened and he took his hand back. "Oh, don't worry—I don't care about that. It only makes things more interesting."

"…except why would a young teen know or care about what some duffers down in Whitehall are doing?" he asked.

"Mainly because the school my father sends me to is full of those duffers' kids and grandkids," Fiona said. "You terrify them, and for the right reasons. Ten years and they'd be the ones getting verbally torn to shreds because they're just as dense. Some of my classmates were glad when you got locked away… but I guess that was something UNIT didn't find all that convenient, was it?"

"I do better work when I'm breathing free air and allowed to eat as many Yorkie bars as is legal," he replied. "Everything else is just incidental."

"Then I think we'll get on great." Fiona then saw the movie on the television, perking up immediately. "Oh, can I join you? I haven't seen this in ages!"

"Take out the trash like you were supposed to do _two weeks ago_ but then Gordon had to do it, and then we'll talk," Kate said. Her daughter rolled her eyes and left, allowing the adults to sit back down again. "I think she likes you."

"She goes to a fucking twit factory?" Malcolm sputtered, completely baffled. "Sounds to me like you got divorced for a good fucking reason."

"He didn't like me leaving the kids with Dad while I would get called in to work or had a long day," she shrugged. "Loris knew what sort of job I was getting into and _said_ he was fine with it, but I guess he really wasn't deep down."

"His loss," Malcolm scoffed. He leaned in and left a quick kiss on the corner of his lady's mouth, humming in satisfaction. "A powerful woman does taste good."

"Save it for tonight—you're going to need to save plenty of room for dessert," Kate teased.

"Trash outside and hands washed," Fiona announced as she walked back into the room. She plopped herself onto the couch on the other side of Malcolm, shocking him by curling up into his side.

"Umm… what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he wondered, trying not to panic.

"She's a cuddler—gets it from me," Kate said. She didn't even need to take her eyes off the television to know what was going on. "Fiona, be nice."

"Malcolm, didn't you ever watch TV with your kids?" the teen asked, ignoring his discomfort.

"Don't have any nips of my own, but my niece stopped this when she was eight," he replied. When Fiona didn't budge, he exhaled heavily in defeat. "Get thrown straight into the fire, I suppose."

"That's the spirit," Kate chuckled, patting his leg.

Malcolm simply gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes on the television and the hand not occupied by his lady-friend along the back of the couch, ignoring all else… even if that included Gordon trying not to cackle as he passed on his way towards the kitchen.

* * *

It was the following day as Malcolm stood upright and cracked his back, groaning at the stiffness he was magically experiencing there. He and Kate had been out in the garden most of the morning _weeding_ , of all things, and it was more physical activity than he'd had all year combined, sex aside.

"Come on now—we've got one bed to go, then lunch," Kate said cheerily. She patted his rear end affectionately as she walked past him, trowel in her other hand.

"I wish you were talking about the mattress sort of bed and not flowers," he groused. "I've sweated off all the sunblock and this heat is roasting me alive. Are you sure we're in a Home County and not the fucking Mediterranean?"

"A shower and a nice long nap awaits us as well… how about that?" she teased.

"Then there may be a God after all," he muttered. He got down on his hands and knees next to her and began picking at the small shoots coming up between the flowers, angered that they even existed.

"Hey, Malcolm."

"What…?"

When he turned his head to look at her, Kate poked him in the nose with a gloved hand, smearing dirt on his face. She gave him a playful glance before he took that as his cue and pounced, tackling her into the grass with naughty hands and kisses to her neck. They rolled about on the lawn for a moment, feeling like giddy teens, until the mobile in Kate's back pocket began to ring, bringing them back down to Earth.

"Let me get that," Malcolm murmured against her chest. He got in a decent grope before answering. "If this is R&D, then it better be the Head Osgood because I have no time for Heckle and Jeckle today."

" _Sorry, did I call the wrong number?_ " It _was_ the Osgoods' uncle, the one who officially headed Research and Development, and he sounded rather confused. " _Mister Tucker, what are you doing with Director Stewart's mobile?_ "

"Gardening."

" _Uh-huh. Is that the new euphemism these days?_ "

"…not technically…"

" _I know you're dating, Petronella told me—I just need some verbal confirmation on a couple things before I can pass it off to Alessandra's department. Please?_ "

"Yeah, hold on." Malcolm passed Kate her mobile and rubbed his face in her chest while she talked to the Head Osgood. A few minutes later and she tapped him on the back of the head with the device, tutting in disapproval.

"Be nice to the other heads of staff, dear," she scolded.

"How can I if everything keeps on getting in the fucking way?" he scowled, face still decidedly between her breasts. "Couldn't do anything last night with the kids around and so we fell asleep on the couch, we're _gardening_ instead of having a proper Saturday-morning lie-in, and now work keeps nagging us."

"You agreed to be here the same weekend as Fiona, the garden has been ignored for over two weeks now, and work would have found us at your flat anyhow."

"Yeah, but I'd rather be laying down like this starkers."

She considered that for a moment. "True, but this feels naughtier, out in the open like this."

"I like the way you think," he grinned devilishly. They began to kiss again, rather turned on by the smells of earth and sweat that permeated the air around them, only stopping when they heard Fiona's far-off voice.

"Mum? Malcolm? Are you alright?" The couple looked towards the house and saw that she was staring at them from her opened bedroom window. Malcolm flipped her two fingers high in the air, which gained his bottom a firm smack in punishment.

"Not the _teenager_ ," she hissed.

"Yeah, yeah, roll over to the hedge if you're gonna shag, okay? Don't do it where the neighbors can see," Fiona shouted back.

" _Fiona Francesca Ferrero_ , don't make me come up there!" Kate warned. Her daughter simply vanished from the window, presumably going back to whatever it was she had been doing.

"Much of a cockblock as she is, I like her," Malcolm admitted. "Ever need to put her up for adoption and she'll have not only a home but a positive influence in her life."

"You are not a positive influence," Kate deadpanned.

"I was _talking_ about Lex, but hey, you went there, love," he said. He then rolled off her, laying face-up in the grass and staring up at the bright sky above. "Hey, can we just… stay here for a bit?"

"Can't move either?"

"There's a reason why I never did yardwork—I'm stiffer than a dick in a porno for fuck's sake."

She held his hand and simply laughed.

* * *

A/N: The Seventh Doctor story _Battlefront_ features the Brig being called as an advisor of sorts while he is living at this house. It looks like a nice house in the countryside, so it's gonna be a really nice house in the countryside.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Told ya.

* * *

 _Ten_

Mainframe UK had really gone all-out. General Winifred Bambera was going to be arriving in less than six hours and everything was shaping up to be a splendid homecoming. The entire base had been given a thorough cleaning, the molemen were all in order, and they had even dusted off Captain Benton for the occasion. He was wandering around the mainframe in a fit of nostalgia, watching as the finishing touches were being placed on things.

"It always feels good to be here," he told Malcolm, who was the one geriatric-sitting until Kate came back from the loo. "It was so difficult in the old days… almost like we were the laughing stock of the military ventures. Now… a proper base, proper equipment, mostly-proper funding, and a direction to go in that's not necessarily war-like… UNIT has come so far."

"Wish I could take some of the credit, but Kate'd kill me," Malcolm chuckled. "It'll be a year for me next month… saved some shitstains from blowing this place's cover sky-high, but that's not enough to take credit for much more."

"It _has_ been nearly a year since you arrived, hasn't it?" Benton mused. "Been in the free and clear, with your own flat, and you've been dating Tiger how long now?"

"Nearly four months," Malcolm said. Benton was fully-aware of what was going on in Kate's life, sort of as though he was watching out for her in Saint Alistair's stead, and it made the media man almost jealous of his lady, in a way. "Makes me feel on top of the fucking world being with her and to give that up would mean I'm dead. I'm such a sap that I have to remind myself to not propose, since it was around this time I popped the question to my ex-wife."

"That sounds a little hasty, don't you think?"

"It was, but I learned from it; in the end, she was only after my connections. Not only does Kate have a conscious, she listens to the damn thing. In retrospect, my ex never did that… it was all being hungry for power."

"…and since Tiger's at the top of her game, right where she wants to be, you don't have any reservations over her intentions," Benton concluded.

"Tuckers fall hard and fast; at least one marriage needs to occur in my family since my great-grandparents' time that actually succeeds, and I'd rather not all the pressure be on my niece if she decides to get hitched," Malcolm shrugged. "What do you think… ask her nips permission first? They don't mind me, and I'm pretty sure Fiona's _fond_ of having me around, but I can't marry a woman whose kids are against the idea."

"I'm sure the Brigadier would have wanted you to talk to them first anyhow," Benton assured. "Take them out for lunch or something the next weekend Fiona's home and Gordon's off work and explain your situation then. Maybe they could give some sort of insight as to when you should ask Tiger about taking things further."

"Sounds like a plan."

"What's a plan?" Kate asked, having finally approached the two.

"Oh, just figuring out how to bust Johnnie here out of the war museum and over to the titty-pub next week," Malcolm replied. He gave her a playful wink, at which she rolled her eyes.

"I give up; I don't want to know," she said. "Malcolm, I just got a call from Morton and she's come down with the flu—do you think you can pop over to the station and pick up Fiona and Zuri in a couple hours?"

"Can't—put off a meeting with my department for too long now," he frowned. After pondering for a moment, he perked up at an idea. "Lex is off school the week—I can get her to do it."

"Then I'll get her some temporary credentials into the system," she replied. "The girls have wanted to meet for a while now, but never have had the opportunity. This'll be good for them."

"…to co-babysit an advanced ten-year-old? An excellent bonding experience; I'll ring her now."

"Aren't you an evil uncle, volunteering her like that," Benton chuckled. Malcolm flipped him a V as he walked off towards his office, mobile to his ear. He was just inside the lift when his niece picked up.

" _What's up?_ "

"Lex, what'cha doing this afternoon?"

" _I was planning on Skyping with Kanda, but she's got a family thing to go to that her mam refuses to let her skip. I_ _ **think**_ _it was a cousin's wedding shower, which would be weird considering it's the middle of the week, but you know Mrs. Keng_."

"Well then, how would you like to do your ol' uncle a favor and pick up some people at the train station? Kate's PA was supposed to do it, but she's puking her guts out, and Rajit and I need to be at a meeting." He exited the lift and found that Aparajita was not in her usual spot—probably off causing hell somewhere. "I'll make it worth your while."

" _Living rent-free in this classy-ass dump is worth my while_ ," Lex laughed. " _Who am I chauffeuring in Britain's tiniest and cheapest limo?_ "

"You know how we've got this general coming in from fucking Geneva? Kate was able to arrange to have the woman's daughter brought over here from her school as a surprise so they could spend some time together," he explained. Malcolm sat down in his desk chair and glanced out over the atrium, seeing Kate and Benton talking over on the far end. "The nip's a bright one—in secondary school a year early—and is arriving today with an older student as a chaperone."

" _Ah, so this isn't something you can exactly trust any of the molemen with, and the rest of the higher-ups are preparing for the pomp and circumstance of General Mam's arrival._ "

"Right on the nose; besides, the older student with the lass just so happens to be a young lady named Fiona Ferrero, otherwise known as my ladyfriend's daughter."

" ** _Finally!_** _I was starting to wonder if you guys were afraid I was going to kidnap her or something if we ever met!_ "

"I still don't put it past you, but I think we can take our chances if a third party's involved," Malcolm snerked. "I'll text Fiona your number, let her know the change in plans, and the two of you can take it from there. You can handle a teenager and a preteen for a little while, yeah?"

" _Fuck you_."

"That's the spirit—thanks again, kiddo."

" _Alright; see you in a tic_."

Malcolm ended the call and fired off a text to Fiona explaining the situation. She replied with a "K" and a winking face, which allowed him to begin to get his notes together for his impending meeting. He was going to have to go over the past two months' worth of departmental performances and he was not looking forward to it. Too often he simply got those big, about-to-be-roadkill, eyes; he'd clear out the staff and replace them if he could, but too many were just useful enough to not sack, not to mention the fact that most of the people he'd want to hire wouldn't even pass the background checks.

He was nearly done when Aparajita finally came out of the lift looking terribly shaken. She went and silently sat down at her desk and stared at her computer, which made her boss stare at her in concern.

"What's the matter?" he wondered.

"Just… have you talked to Glenn Cullen lately?"

"Not within the past week—I know he's been out for a bit. Why?"

"I was just having a chat with him in the canteen; he was out because a friend of his died," she said.

"Oh, well, when you're as old and crusty as Glenn is, you end up going to a lot more funerals than you care to admit."

"He wasn't that old though," Aparajita said. "Two years older than me—Raj's age—and he's just _gone_. Survived being deployed overseas a couple times and everything."

"What's Glenn doing hobnobbing with ex-soldiers half his age?" Malcolm frowned. He stood and went to his assistant's desk to make sure she was alright.

"They met in a pub a while back and Glenn would offer him advice since he didn't have a dad to ask things. He was ready to set up a date between us, but dropped that idea when the guy started dating a coworker."

"Ach, that's too bad. Did he say what the lad died from?"

"Hit-and-run; was on his mobile with his girlfriend when it happened. He's never seen someone that upset… like it's just numbed her into nothingness..."

"…and you can't stop thinking about it being your cousin instead of that lad."

"It's silly, but yeah," she admitted.

"Hey, go make yourself a cuppa and take a moment on the couch in my office," he offered. "I'll head down to the meeting by myself."

"You sure?"

"Positive—if I can't handle those goddamned legacy hires and twatballs for a few hours, then I might as well hand over the job to Shaw like the shitstain wanted to begin with."

Aparajita laughed at the notion. "Sounds like a plan."

Taking that as an appropriate response, Malcolm patted her shoulder and went back to his desk to finish up gathering his things. She had just finished making her tea when he was ready to leave.

"By the way," he said on his way to the lift, "I got Lex picking up Fiona and Miss Bambera in Morton's stead—try not to scare the poor lass."

"That's not specific enough," she chuckled. He gave her a grin and entered the lift—she was still a little shaken, but at least she was going to be alright.

* * *

Meeting over, Aparajita's nerves back to its steely norm, and a Double Decker in his system; Malcolm was ready for the general to make her appearance and leave. It wasn't that he had anything against her, yet because people were making such a big deal of it, nearly everyone around him seemed to be on the edge of their seats. He didn't think General Bambera sounded like a particularly nasty person, so he simply shrugged it off and decided he'd make a judgement himself after he met the woman.

It was finally time for General Bambera to arrive and thank fuck she was right on schedule. Kate, Benton, and the Scarfys had greeted her on the helipad and brought her underground, showing her everything that had changed within the time she'd been away. Malcolm waited impatiently in the atrium with the remainder of the heads of staff, bouncing his leg as he sat perched atop the railing by the molemen's pit.

"This is going to make me go fucking nuts if Bambera doesn't get here soon," he scowled. If he was being completely honest, the only way things could have been worse was if he was made to wear the UNIT military kit that was stashed up in his office cupboard for true emergencies. "What's keeping them?"

"Who knows?" Glenn shrugged. He, Malcolm, and William, the Scarfys' uncle and technical head of Research and Development, were grouped together while they were waiting for the word that Bambera was coming. The male Osgood was only a little older than Glenn, though to Malcolm, seemed much more in-touch with things than the old political aide.

"It's not like she asks for the show or anything," William said. "I just hope my nieces don't embarrass the mainframe again by asking about the Carbury Incident."

"Ah, she'll behave," Glenn assumed. "Hey, you figure out which one is which yet?"

"Nope—whichever is the Zygon is a perfect replica. It's like Petronella found her long-lost twin or something. Having an extra niece isn't that bad, so I'm not concerned about it."

"I don't know; two of mine might be a bit of trouble," Malcolm chuckled. "You can meet Lex later if you'd like. She's a bit on the sarcastic side, but that's how I fucking raised her."

"Still can't see you as a father-figure, even to a niece," Glenn said, shaking his head. "The mental breakdowns you've caused, the threats you've made…"

"…and not a single one of you fuckers didn't deserve it," Malcolm replied. "Threats for no reason are one thing, and making jokes like that aren't funny in the slightest, but neither of them compare to the shit I had to clear up back then, and not a single one listened to me until I was threatening the worst. You all had it coming."

"My _nose_ didn't have it coming."

"C'mon… I apologized over that one."

"Okay, everyone!" the Head of Security shouted, pressing his mobile's earpiece into his head. "I just got word that they're coming our way! Attention!"

Everyone scrambled to their positions, falling into impeccably-straight lines, and saluted when General Bambera and her entourage came through. They came to a stop by the departmental heads, who all thankfully stood at-ease.

"Not the exact same line-up as the last time I was here, but I've heard that everyone has been doing a brilliant job and for that I congratulate you," she said with a grin. She scanned the group of them, taking note of Glenn and Malcolm both. "So, you two are the new guys in from the government. How's life in the international and interstellar circuit treating you?"

"It's better than I could have ever imagined," Glenn replied.

"Me mam thinks I'm off my rocker, but considering I would have taken 'unemployed' compared to what I was, I'm in paradise," Malcolm added. General Bambera tilted her head at that, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"I hope it's just that she doesn't believe in aliens."

"Actually, she knew about UNIT long before I was born, ma'am," he explained. "She wasn't a wee, meek housewife for even a moment and has participated in more government operations than anyone'll ever know." It was killing him to not cuss in front of the general, but he promised Kate earlier to not unless it was called for, and it was nowhere near that yet.

"Ah, I see," she nodded. "Well then, I'm glad that the two of you are excelling at and enjoying your new roles. Geneva appreciates it."

"Thank you, ma'am," Malcolm and Glenn said together.

"Alright everyone, DISMISSED!" the general ordered. Everyone relaxed and most people went back to their stations. As she watched the dispersal, Bambera turned towards Kate. "I know it sounds like favoritism, but I honestly believe the UK mainframe is amongst one of the better stations in the organization. It makes me proud to say this was my home mainframe."

"It's an honor," Kate replied. "Actually, General, we have a surprise for you."

"You do…?"

"Yes." Kate took the communicator from inside her jacket pocket and spoke into it. "Corporal, escort our guests into the atrium."

"On it," answered Gordon's static-marred voice. Moments later and he appeared out a door with Fiona, Lex, and a small girl who resembled a heavy-browed, pigtailed, light-skinned version of the general, who lit up at the sight of her.

"MUM!" the girl shouted from across the atrium.

"Ah, there's my little Zuri," Bambera grinned. The girl ran up to her and they hugged, holding one another tight.

"I miss you, Mum," the girl whined. Her voice nearly broke Malcolm's heart, as it was the tone of a child close to their parent. "I don't want to go to the stupid English school anymore. Why can't I stay with you and Dad?"

"We went over this: you are going to a school with an advanced curriculum, and although Dad and I miss you too, we know it's for the best."

Young Zuri had clearly heard that answer before, as she made a sad noise and clung to her mother. In the meantime, Fiona and Lex had reached them and hugged Kate and Malcolm, while Gordon resisted, seeing that he was still on-duty.

"This girl really needs to be in Geneva," Fiona told her mother lowly. "Cried almost the entire way here." Lex on the other hand…

"Whoa, Uncle Malc… how come you didn't tell me _this_ was where you two worked?!" she marveled. She was still looking around everywhere, a bit in-awe at her surroundings.

"I figured you'd get here eventually, so I chose to wait for the surprise," he grinned. "Fiona, how's the gilt prison life going?"

"Well enough; how's being Mum's current foreign-blooded boy toy treating you?" the teen snarked back. Kate elbowed her sourly in reply.

"Behave," she hissed.

"Gordy's dad is half-Polish, my Dad's Italian, Malc's Scottish… you definitely like them not-English."

"If you don't stop you are going to be grounded until you go off to university."

Fiona chuckled, not believing her mother for a moment, instead turning her attention towards Malcolm and Lex. "Shock wear off yet?"

"She still can't believe the flat we're in, so no," Malcolm teased. He then noticed that Zuri had approached them, staring at the three timidly. "What's the matter, kiddo? You alright?"

"Thank you, Miss Lewiston, for driving me and Miss Fiona here, and thank you, Miss Fiona, for accompanying me," the girl said. It was enough to snap Lex out of her daze, instead becoming enamored by the child's politeness.

"You're welcome, sweetie," she replied, patting her on the shoulder. "Just be good to your mam, okay?"

"Okay."

"That's a good girl," Bambera said. "Can't forget our manners; don't slip just because your classmates don't remember."

"Some of them are nice, but a lot are _rude_ ," Zuri told her mother. She went back to her side and hugged her around the middle, glad to be there.

General Bambera was nearly about to start thanking everyone herself when one of the molewomen over at a scanner station grabbed a printout and ran up to the group. She held it out towards Kate, a terrified look plastered on her face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but we're picking up the Master's psychic signature alongside a different bioread. He's regenerated… and he's in London."

"Put a tracker on him—watch out for any suspicious activity," Kate ordered.

"Hey! Looks like we've got company!" a moleman shouted from his station. "I'm getting hits over by St. Paul's that are off the charts!"

"Give me CCTV, _now_ ," Kate instructed. Everyone in the atrium watched as a camera feed was put up on display across the monitors. Familiar-looking suits of what almost could have passed for armor were standing in the street, the sight of which sent a chill down the employees' collective spine.

"Shit, it's Cybermen!" Bambera growled. She held her daughter closer, glaring at the screens.

"Alright, men! I need battle stations!" Kate shouted, immediately jumping into action. "Just how we drilled! I need Boat One prepped, an undercover squadron down in the epicenter along with outfitted backup, and I need it _now_!" She then turned around to address the other officers. "General, ma'am, I request that you take your daughter back to Geneva with you and stay there; get her with Ancelyn and brace for the worst."

"That is an excellent suggestion," Bambera nodded. She took Zuri by the hand and led her off towards some soldiers, figuring out a way to get back to headquarters.

"Ahmed," Kate continued, "I need you on Boat One, along with an Osgood, as representatives of the international community and the Human-Zygon Alliance."

"Yes, ma'am," both Ahmed and an Osgood saluted before running off.

"Tucker, as temporary Lieutenant Colonel, you are in charge; Benton, help him out with the more military aspects while I'm gone. Fiona, Lex, go up to my office and stay there, no excuses. I need everyone else at their stations. That is an order."

"Kate…" Malcolm started, though she began to walk off before he could continue. He nearly had to run to catch up with her, finally able to get hold of her arm in a corridor. "Do you have to go?"

"Yes, I'm the Brigadier-Director, and the Brigadier deals directly with the Doctor," she replied.

"You don't tell someone to prepare for the fucking worst and then expect everyone else around you to act like it's some casual, shitty drill. I'm genuinely terrified—you know how much it takes for me to admit that."

Stepping forward, Kate kissed Malcolm on the lips without the privacy of one of their offices at work for the first time that he could recall. It didn't matter that a bunch of people were running about in a panic or that it didn't get past their lips—she kissed him.

"Do a good job and you might get something extra later," she teased. With that, she patted him on the chest and walked away, this time, allowed to go where she needed to be. After watching her go down the corridor for a few seconds, Malcolm turned back around and returned to the atrium, finding that a couple of civilians were still hanging around that shouldn't have been.

"C'mon, you hear what the lady said: to her office you two," he told Lex and Fiona. The younger of the pair simply glared at him in concern, knowing the gravity of the situation.

"Mum doesn't just leave like that," Fiona stated. "Why'd she leave?"

"Because your mam's the Brigadier-Director, and the Brigadier deals directly with the Doctor," he repeated. Glancing over his shoulder at Gordon, he whistled to get the young man's attention. "If you could please make sure the civilians find the appropriate office, then we can make sure they stay safe."

"Yes, sir," Gordon replied. He escorted his sister and friend out of the atrium, leaving the room purely filled with UNIT personnel. Malcolm gave Captain Benton a grin and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning towards the molemen that were already frantically working.

"Right then, you bunch of bent sods! I've only seen footage of these Cybercunts and I want to keep it that way! Let's make the Brigadier-Director proud and make sure nothing happens on this end that we can't fix! Time to fucking _earn_ that paycheck!"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Here's the next installment for what might be a while, thanks to holidays coming up. If there is more before the new year, then it's a bonus, but for now this is it (though I do have some of the next chapter written).

* * *

 _Eleven_

" _First protocol is implemented—we are good to go_ ," Kate said. " _I'll let you know when we've reached the next stage_."

"Good luck, love," Malcolm replied. The call ended, he shoved his mobile in his pocket and looked out on the pit that had the molemen in it, watching mercilessly as they scrambled to keep their stations working smoothly. It had been less than an hour since Kate had left him in charge of the place and he certainly wasn't about to walk away and allow the chaos devolve into anarchy; this was his post now, as temporary as it was, and it reminded him of Cabinet reshuffles and surprise elections. He was more than qualified for this.

"Lieutenant Colonel, I just got a text—we're to ' _guard the graveyards_ ' according to the Doctor," Scarfy frowned, standing next to him. She stared at her mobile and loosened her scarf idly. "That doesn't make sense... why the graveyards?"

"Cybercunts might use them as a gathering place since there's no one in 'em that can hold a torch and pitchfork," he shrugged. "I though you and the other Miss Level know what one another's thinking at all times."

"The psychic link works best when we're physically occupying roughly the same space; it's easier to simply text instead of waste mental energy attempting to keep in sync long-distance," she replied.

"Fair enough," he shrugged. "I just wish the Doctor wasn't involved. It's bad enough _the Master_ is, but to have two of those lunatics putting their cosmic dicks in the biscuit tin… though one of 'em doesn't exactly has a dick anymore, does she?"

"She'll get sick of peeing sitting down eventually, trust me," Scarfy snarked. She excused herself to take a call from her uncle and Malcolm was left alone, overseeing his subordinates quietly.

That was certainly something: observing quietly. It wasn't often he got to merely watch without shouting at the top of his lungs in the process—even his direct staff in Communications occasionally needed a decent bollocking to keep in line—and to stand there with no one to actually need to shout at… it was an odd feeling. Then again, UNIT was rather well-stacked when it came to competency.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Glenn knelt down aside an unmanned moleman station, recognizing it as the project that he had been working on the day before, put on hold because of General Bambera's arrival. He attempted to walk over casually as possible, something that still caught the attention of his former political colleague.

"Before you start shouting, if someone out here has an issue, which I'm sure will happen, at least I don't have to break a sweat running to get up here," Glenn said.

"I don't believe it—we've worked together for fucking decades and I've never seen you run a single stride even once."

"Better than whatever that is _you_ call running—I hope for your sake the Brigadier-Director isn't fond of participating in 5ks."

"Touché." He watched Glenn poke and prod the station innards with different devices, most of which he'd never seen before, and scowled. "Hey, you alright?"

"Out of all the decades we've worked together, I think you've asked me that all of once, and that's just because I think you felt guilty about my nose."

"Well, it's not like you've missed nearly a week of work before because a pub mate half your age died," Malcolm mentioned. Glenn stared at him, not entirely sure how to respond. "Rajit told me and I didn't want to bring it up around everyone earlier."

"Thanks," he said. "Danny… he was a good lad—deserved the flack he got for being a soldier less than I did when I came back from 'Nam. Hard worker, knew what he wanted, straddled that line between the guy you want to be your younger brother and the guy you nearly see as a son. It's an odd thing to say, but you'd understand if you were in my position…"

"…which is why your hands are still shaking."

"For fuck's sake, Malcolm—don't you have anyone to bollock into submission?"

"Not yet, but I don't want it to be you… not because of this," he replied. "Listen: Morton's out sick and there are a couple civilians up in Kate's office. Can you stay with them for a bit, make sure they're alright? It's just up the lift if you need to get back."

"Alright," Glenn relented. He put the otherworldly scanning device back in the tool tote and left the bag there. "I've met Miss Ferrero, but the other one's your niece, right?"

"Yeah, that's my Lex; careful, 'cause she's got the Tucker Temper worse than me. She's me mam's granddaughter through and through."

"Noted." Glenn then walked away, headed over towards the lift that would take him to Kate's office. Malcolm went back to his post, only for the Biomedical Head, Alessandra Sullivan, to walk up to him brandishing a complicated-looking readout on a tablet.

"It's spreading," she said gravely. "Cybermen are exploding in the sky all around the world. I've got my team attempting to figure out what precisely is going on, but we're stumped."

"This is the Master's doing—who knows what sort of shit she's got up her parasol," he replied, examining the data. He could make sense of it up until a point, but afterwards it was just a bunch of fucking gibberish. "You send this to the Brigadier-Director?"

"It's being compiled now for upload. So much for this being a localized event, eh?"

"Why else do you think we went to fetch His Sodding Presidency?" Malcolm scoffed. "So the cybercide is what's causing this freakish rain?"

"There's something special in the rain that's reacting with the deceased's organic matter; before this we've only had records of live-cyberconversions, so this is definitely new to us."

"…then Mister President better get to presidenting or there are going to be rent boys less fucked than we are."

"You always have a way with words, don't you Tucker?" Sullivan chuckled. She took back her tablet and sighed while swiping through the rest of her data. "We're stuck worried about Cybermen, thanks to a what-if that has no precedent, while I'd rather have a crack at decoding Gallifreyan gender fluidity and its role in regeneration. Feeling repressed and rebelling when it comes to gender norms is one thing, and confusing the mental for the biological is another, but this is _purely_ _biological_ … you don't just change your base biology on a whim."

"Say that now and it might get treated like a death sentence," Malcolm warned. "I thought Time Lords swapped faces now and then, yeah? Who's to say they want to trade their balls for some tits and vice versa every now and then?"

"We've never been in contact with such an individual before—this is brand-new stuff that could help humans with their own gender-specific problems should we crack the code. If the Osgoods and I can get just a bit of time…"

"I told ya: be careful what you wish for. It got me fucked over more than once. Got visuals on the Doctor's new mug yet?"

"Right here." Sullivan pulled up a scan of the Doctor from the shoulders up, showing it to Malcolm.

"Ugly bloke," he scowled. "If these bent space-tits can change appearance and gender and all that shit, you would think they'd try to look like they weren't run over by a train."

"Who knows? Probably got sick of looking like a Beatle and moved on."

"Fucked if I know."

Glancing up at the monitors above the molemen, he watched as the convoy carrying his lady and the Time Lords were being tracked on their way towards Boat One. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he did so, hoping that everything was going to go according to plan.

* * *

Peeling a satsuma up in Kate's office, Malcolm tried to keep a shell of composure in front of Lex and Fiona. He had relieved Glenn of his civiliansitting duties after a few hours and was now briefing the young women with what he could. They were over in the sitting area, with him in a chair and the two civilians sitting on the couch.

"These Cyberpricks, how dangerous are they?" Lex wondered.

"You must've had fun living up in Scotland, not getting the crazy shit we do down here," Fiona said. "Their primary objective is the destruction of humanity as we know it, though it's through things like eliminating emotions and attachments… stuff like that. They use what can be considered positive concepts in a negative way. When priests and gurus tell someone to let go of their emotions, this is the furthest thing they mean; controlling is not the same thing as straight-up _deleting_."

"Not sure if I see Gordy doing it, so are you planning on taking over the family business from your mam?" Malcolm asked. "You've got the brains and know-how for it."

"Maybe, if I get bored enough," the teen shrugged. "I had been thinking about business and banking… you know… be where the funds come from."

"Sounds like a good goal to have," he said, popping a section of fruit into his mouth. "The less we have to rely on the fucking Crown the better… and even the UN doesn't always admit that we're part of them."

"Hence why I'd like to make sure that we rely on public funds less and less—it'll be a challenge, but it's one I'm up to tackling."

"Do you know if Zuri and her mam are back in Geneva yet?" Lex asked, changing the subject. "The nip seemed pretty nerve-wracked."

"They touched down just before I came up," Malcolm replied. "Wasn't a long ride at all. It looks like they're going through the exact same things in Switzerland that we are in the UK… it's happening all over the world."

"…but Mum has the Doctor, yeah? He's President of the World, dumb as that sounds," Fiona mentioned.

"I don't trust a Time Lord as far as I can toss him, but this is fucking lunacy." He ran his hands over his face and exhaled heavily. "For that shit to be the only hope we have, we've got to be desperate."

"Umm… Malcolm…?" The three glanced towards the door and saw Aparajita standing there, looking rather unnerved. "Captain Benton wants you."

"No rest for the wicked," he sighed. "Hang tight, ladies—I'll be back when I can." Malcolm went over to his PA and closed the office door behind them. "You look as though someone told you that Finch prick got back out and attacked your granddad personally."

"No, but you better get down there," she replied.

Not wanting to waste time, Malcolm went into the lift and down to the atrium level. He went towards where Scarfy, Benton, and Sullivan were standing, the both looking at something on the latter's tablet.

"What's going on?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice down. "Rajit looked genuinely scared."

"Heat scans on cemeteries and graveyards all over the UK and Ireland are correlating what's beginning to happen around the rest of the world: the graves are _active_ ," Sullivan said. "Cyberconversion is _happening_ despite everything we know saying that it _shouldn't_."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Other than tell the Brigadier-Director? Nothing," Benton said. The old man looked weary, as though he was in need of a good, long rest.

"Lieutenant Colonel!" a molewoman shouted. "We have reports of Cybermen popping out of graves and wandering around cemeteries! What do we do?!"

"Send the information to Boat One—monitor the situation and prep reaction squadrons," he ordered quickly. "Any reports of them acting out?"

"None, sir."

"Then proceed as planned."

The alarm lights across the atrium deepened from bright orange to a red-orange, heightening the threat level slightly. It had been varying shades of yellow and orange since Kate left and it was now the closest to red the media man had ever seen it outside of drills, exercises, and that time the computer controlling it had a cuppa spilled all over it.

"Lieutenant Colonel," Scarfy said, bringing his thoughts back, "do you want me to get Corporal Lethbridge-Stewart and have him escort the civilians in the Brigadier-Director's office home? They've been here a long time and if we move them now, they'll miss the Cybermen's activation."

"Good idea, but not yet," Malcolm nodded. "I'd rather keep them here for a while yet if the Cybercunts are starting to pop up like metal-plated zombies. Hobbling about or not, those corpses are going to start attacking without a fucking notice."

"Oka…a…y…"

Scarfy's eyes went wide and she dropped to the floor, visibly shaking. Benton and Malcolm both jumped back, while Sullivan immediately put down her tablet and began checking her over.

"What the fuck is happening?!" Malcolm asked.

"It looks like shock, but I don't know from what," Sullivan replied. "I need to get her down to medical, now!"

While it did not take long for someone to appear with a gurney, it was just enough time for Scarfy to start convulsing. Sullivan got some help from Malcolm in holding her down so that she didn't hurt herself. They lifted her onto the gurney and strapped her down, with Sullivan immediately rushing her over to the medical bay.

"Shit…" Benton marveled. "I didn't know that the younger Osgood was prone to seizures."

"I dunno… that doesn't look like one to me," Malcolm scowled. "I've seen 'em before and they don't happen out of nowhere like what Scarfy's going through. Alessandra probably thinks that's it because she's panicking."

"How do you know that?"

"Used to work with a lass who was susceptible back in my newspaper days—clever woman, but we had to keep her away from photographed major events or _she_ would be the one making headlines."

"Sounds like quite the task, considering you worked in news," Benton said, shaking his head. He caught the stares of nearby molemen out of the corner of his eye and made them get back to work again with only a quick look. Returning to the conversation, he stood close to Malcolm so that no one else could overhear. "Do you think it's because she's the Zygon?"

"I don't know—even with the Zygons working for us allowing medical exams, the last time I checked the file we knew fuck-all about their physiology, and that would do Scarfy no good anyhow considering she's currently Human, whether that's what she was originally or not." Malcolm picked up Sullivan's tablet from the floor and whistled, urging the cluster of soldiers not far off to send one of their number over. Gordon answered the call and trotted over. "Can you take this down to Medical Officer Sullivan?"

"Sure. Do you think Osgood will be alright?"

"If she's not now, then she will be eventually—Alessandra's a good medical doctor," Benton assured. The young man was about to walk off when a moleman shouted over at his temporary commanding officer.

"We've got a message coming in from Boat One!"

"Play it," Malcolm said. The moleman hit some buttons and brought up the audio, which played on a loop via the overhead speakers.

" _Message to Geneva: tell them Boat One is going down. We don't anticipate survivors_."

Kate… that was her voice. Malcolm's chest became tight as he listened to her words, the fact they were her last ones hitting him hard.

" _Message to Geneva: tell them Boat One is going down. We don't anticipate survivors_."

Fuck, she sounded terrified. A monitor began to flash—the plane had exploded… she _was_ gone.

" _Message to Geneva: tell them Boat One is going down. We don't anticipate survivors_."

 ** _No_**.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: We're back, complete with an angsty update. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Twelve_

The entire atrium grew quiet aside from some sporadic beeping on panicked sensors. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screens, most trained on the largest monitor that declared in big, bold, capital letters BOAT ONE DOWN.

"No…" Gordon breathed. His breath became progressively quicker and shakier while he clenched the railing bars in an attempt to steady himself. Benton went and put an arm around the young man as a comfort for them both, while Malcolm stood frozen, staring at the screens.

' _It… can't be_ ,' he thought. A lurch in his stomach broke his daze and he composed himself. He glanced around only to see that eyes were now on him, waiting for orders. ' _Fuck, that's right—I'm the superior officer… I'm it_.'

"Benton, get Corporal Stewart up to… where we're keeping Lex and Fiona and have Rajit call up Glenn Cullen from Data Management; he's good with situations like this," he said quietly. "Come back when everything is stable there."

"Yes, sir," Benton nodded, leading Gordon away. Malcolm waited until they were in the lift before addressing the atrium, his voice cracking just enough for him to be conscious of it.

"Alright, listen up," he announced. "This is supposed to rattle us, shake us to our fucking core, but you want to know what? As often as you molecunts fuck shit up and make my life excruciatingly annoying, you are a group of some of the most talented men and women I've ever had the privilege of working with. There's a _reason_ why UNIT fucking recruited you and don't ever forget it!

"Brigadier-Director Stewart, Colonel Ahmed, and one of the Lieutenant Osgoods are gone, however this does not mean we're down for the fucking count! As of this moment, I am temporarily in-charge. My first order as Acting Brigadier-Director is to tell you to get back to your fucking jobs! Mourn the dead later; we have work to do, _now!_ I don't care if we're the last fucking holdout of humanity after it's all said and done!"

The molemen immediately went back to work, attempting to shake the shock from their systems. It wasn't long before Benton returned and was standing dutifully at his side, his own eyes a bit red.

"Gordy's up there and Cullen's on his way," he reported.

"Good—now I need you to go down to give this to Sullivan and stay the fuck there," Malcolm ordered, picking up the tablet that was dropped in panic yet again. "If we need to get Scarfy out of here last-minute, then I'd rather you lead that charge."

"…but…"

"…it doesn't matter if she's the original or the Zygon because of what she represents—keeping her safe without knowing which she is will do wonders for the interspecies relations."

"That's assuming we make it out of this alive, sir."

"…and we're going to do our fucking best to make it look like that's what we think will happen." He handed the tablet to the older man and nodded solemnly. "I've got things here."

"Do you, sir?"

"I have to, don't I?"

With that, Benton took the tablet and went off towards a corridor. Malcolm glanced up towards where he knew his niece was to find that the glass had been turned opaque to conceal those inside—likely a move made by Aparajita. It was probably better he didn't see any of them anyhow. He watched the molemen scramble instead, silently analyzing the situation as they acted the communications hub.

Maybe this was where he should have been after all.

"Brigadier-Director, sir, I've got a call from Geneva on the line; it sounds like General Bambera."

Malcolm took the phone—a fucking corded phone attached to a base that he also snatched from the terrified man—and scowled into it. "What'cha got for me, Your Exaltedness?"

" _I need a status report; who am I speaking with?_ " He gave her the benefit of the doubt considering they had barely spoken to one another given the emergency, but made note to hand it to her should she quickly forget a second time.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Malcolm Tucker, Director of Public Relations and Acting Brigadier-Director; Boat One went down not long ago and we're rightly panicking."

" _Shit; it's worse than I thought_."

"If it's a decoy, it's fucking convinced me."

" _Watch your language, Tucker, and be their strength_ ," Bambera commanded. " _I'll keep this line open, since London is Ground Zero—check in if something major happens_."

"Yes, ma'am."

The call ended and he tossed the phone to the ground, not caring what happened to it. He glared that the monitors again in spite, for the information going across the screens was something he never, _ever_ wanted to repeat again. The words echoed through his brain, hollow and perverse.

 _Boat One is going down._

Fuck.

 _We don't anticipate survivors_.

His stomach lurched, forcing him to take a deep breath and reach for one of the hard candies in his pocket Aparajita always kept him stocked up on like some wrinkled old fart. He knew he needed something harder than that—harder than coffee—but he wasn't in a place to do any of that now. Maybe later under his niece's understanding and watchful eye, but definitely not now, for these were the times that people remembered, and they were going to remember that putting him in charge was the right call to make, even if it meant that they were the last speck of non-cyberconverted life remaining as the world came crashing down.

Sod it all… as though it fucking mattered anymore.

* * *

Clutching the sides of the toilet, Malcolm's entire body shook as he waited for another potential round of vomit to forcibly expel itself from his intestinal tract. Tears dripped off his nose and _plip-plip-plip_ ed into the water inches from his face while he knelt there, trying to steady his nerves that were already so fucking frayed. He hit the lever and watched everything get rinsed away. Deceptively-clear water replaced it, showing him a pale ghost of his reflection that he did his best to ignore.

Shakily, he figured he could risk it and put a hand on either wall of the stall, using it for support as he stood on wobbly knees. When it felt like he could stand of his own volition again, Malcolm opened the door and hobbled towards a sink. He leaned into that as well, cursing his body for not doing what he wanted—he was shutting down, which was the last thing he needed to fucking do at this point.

A glance at the mirror showed the sharp reality of what his reflection in the toilet had wanted to convey. Puffy eyes, snot and tears and specks of vomit all over his face, clothes that were in desperate need of a wash, and the signs of exhaustion that he knew how to recognize after pulling too many all-nighters at Number 10; he was going on thirty hours with little rest and it was beginning to show.

Malcolm ran the water and pumped some soap into his hand. At least the threat was gone—Cybermen self-imploding after their scanners caught a rogue one causing a chain reaction in them all—and everyone was allowed to relax to the best of their abilities. He washed his face and hands and wet his hair with some ice-cold water to help keep him awake.

 _We don't anticipate survivors_.

Kate's last words rang through his consciousness as though it was the refrain to the worst fucking song he'd ever had the displeasure of hearing. He sniffled, realizing there was nowhere for his snot to go thanks to clogged sinuses, and tried to shake it off. There were still others to think of… a pair of siblings that had been on his mind since before he started heaving his guts up in the bog…

…and all of this could have been avoided had he stuck to his self-enforced code of no longer dating in the workplace.

When he finally felt as though he was stable enough to walk around, Malcolm exited the bathroom, dismissing the soldier who was standing guard to make sure no one else entered during his indulgent moment of weakness. He then made his way through the mainframe, nearly spooked by how calm and quiet it was, and went up the lift into Kate's office. The only sounds were Glenn fussing over tea in the corner and Fiona's soft snores as she slept on the couch using Lex's lap as a pillow. Everyone stared at Malcolm as he entered, including Aparajita and Gordon, who had been talking lowly in the corner.

"Ship didn't sink," the acting brigadier-director said. Lex gently removed herself from her spot next to Fiona and went to hug her uncle. He gently squeezed back, knowing she was almost as shaken as he was, only in a different way. "Rajit? Glenn? Can I have a moment with the nips?"

"I'll go check on Captain Benton then," Glenn replied solemnly. He unplugged the kettle and made for the lift, though Aparajita lingered by her boss for a moment.

"We all need some food, so I'll see what I can scavenge," she said.

"Super Assistant thinks of everything," he replied.

The two exchanged smiles and she left with Glenn, allowing Malcolm to silently motion to Lex and Gordon to sit with him at the table in the corner… to sit down with his kids, no matter how broad of a definition that might have been.

"How are you holding up?" Malcolm asked Gordon. The younger man nodded slightly, though it was clear his heart wasn't in it.

"What's going to happen to Fiona?" he wondered, voice strained and rough from tears. "I know Loris never really liked me that much, but he can't keep me from seeing her, can he?"

"That's what I wanted to talk about," Malcolm replied. "I'm going to need Lex's help when it comes to arranging things during the day, but I think I've got a favor or two left that I cash in with the correct departments so that you can petition to take over your mam's half of the custody agreement while it's still in effect. It's not much, but it's what I can do. Keeping Alistair's house in the family might be a long-shot… though I can at least promise this."

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it myself; it's alright," Gordon said. "You didn't raise either of us, just dated Mum. You don't need to do anything."

"…and that's where you're wrong," Malcolm said. He took a breath and held it, not wanting to break down again. "You're both good kids and I don't want to see you two torn apart by this. Kate… I feel like she would have done the same for Lex, in her own way. I… I never married her, but I want to make sure everything's done correctly for her sake."

"…but, you don't have any obligation—like you just said: you didn't marry Mum. We're not your problem."

"Except I would have, had she asked, which makes you the furthest thing from a problem in my eyes," he insisted. "I'm not just going to drop you now that she's…" He fiddled with his hands awkwardly, not knowing how else to make things better. This wasn't something he could cuss at until it went away—it was a real problem involving actual people, not to mention the gaping hole in his own gut. He cleared his throat, gathering himself. "Loris won't get the chance to dictate when and where the two of you get to be a family or for how long. Siblings are all each other truly have—parents leave us, kids need to live their own lives, but I would have been _damned_ if I was separated from my sister as a nip. Much as Marcia and I don't get along, I still wouldn't trade her for anything, and something tells me that you feel the same way about Fiona."

A long silence permeated the office, making the sleeping teen sound like a roaring bulldozer. Her brother stared at her for a moment, contemplating his answer.

"Thank you," Gordon finally said. "I appreciate it."

"Good—now wake up your sister, 'cause it looks like my sainted assistant has returned," Malcolm said. Aparajita had indeed come back, a precariously-stacked pile of boxes and bottles in her arms. He and Lex went to help relieve her of most of the load, while Gordon made his way to Fiona's side.

"Did Glenn find Captain Benton?" Lex asked, keeping her voice down so that only the three of them heard. "He looked pretty shaken too."

"Yeah, they're down in the medbay right now," Aparajita replied. "Luckily he has experience knowing how to handle burying the ones that are supposed to bury you, or whatever the fuck it was he was muttering. I say as long as everyone stays buried that should be at this point, we'll pull out of this."

"I hope so," Malcolm added. They brought the box lunches and water bottles over to the table and distributed them evenly. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for all of them to eat, but they knew they had to… keep strength up and other such bullshit that they were sure Glenn would soberly feed them had he been around. A cold, bland meal and napping at the office was simply going to have to do.

With everything done, everyone decided to split up and get some rest. Malcolm and Gordon went down to the former's office and each took a couch along with a blanket and pillow, neither wanting to take the bed in the panic room away from the other. It didn't seem like very long after Malcolm closed his eyes, however, before he was being woken up again, this time by a breathless Lex.

"Uncle Malc! Get up! You have to come quickly!"

"I thought I said ' _a bloody fucking emergency_ '," he growled back, not even bothering to open his eyes. He half-expected his niece to snap back something about the nature of " _a bloody fucking emergency_ " and how it pertained to whatever situation it was, except it was Fiona's voice that answered.

"Mum's back."

Bolting upright, Malcolm's eyes went wide as he stared at the teen. She was crouched down next to her brother on the other side of the room, who also seemed to be genuinely shocked beyond belief.

" _What the_ _ **fuck**_ _?!_ "

"Doctor Sullivan just called Ms. Khan—the TARDIS appeared in the middle of the medbay and the Doctor came out carrying Mum." Even though she was the one saying the words, Fiona didn't seem as though she didn't believe them herself.

"That motherfucking cocksucker of a prick-arsed…!" Malcolm sputtered as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch and put his shoes back on. He didn't even bother to tie them, instead tucking in the laces so that he would not trip. "Fiona, Gordon, let's get you two down there."

He had to control himself so as to not break out into a full-on run, but Malcolm was able to rush along with the kids down to the medical wing. It was a mess of people being brought in from the field after having fought off the wayward activated Cyberman, only one of which was needed to remorselessly destroy any sized unit of men that came their way. The carnage reminded the media man of how much work he had ahead of him in spin alone, yet none of that matter when they made it to the last room in the corridor, the one where Sullivan stood by waiting for them.

"You lot were quick," she said. "I've got the Brigadier-Director under sedation right now, but wow, we are lucky."

"What happened?" Gordon asked. Fiona instead went directly into the room, Lex close behind.

"The Doctor keeps on insisting that it was one of the Cybermen that saved her, but I don't know how that could be, considering all we know about them. It should be impossible."

"When it comes to the Doctor, you only have _improbables_ ," the young man said. "What does she have?"

"Bumps and bruises mostly, though she is going to be very achey for a few weeks, two months maximum," Sullivan replied. "There are a couple hairline fractures, but it's difficult to tell whether or not those were there previous to this incident or not, since those sometimes occur and heal undetected by doctor and patient alike. It's enough for me to want her not doing anything much while recuperating… even being careful with light exercise."

"She won't do a thing, I swear it," Gordon said before slipping into the room himself. Sullivan and Malcolm then stared at one another, unsure of how to continue.

"How's Scarfy?" he asked, the thought popping in his head.

"Stable now, but the mental link between her and the other Osgood was violently torn from her consciousness, causing her physical shock. We'll know soon enough if it's the human or the Zygon we've got in our care."

"Long as she's safe."

"You know," she added, voice quiet, "what I told Corporal Lethbridge-Stewart is only considering the Brigadier-Director's _physical_ trauma. Just like with Osgood, we have no idea concerning the mental impact of what just happened."

"Sons are for doing extra chores, beaus are for getting nightmares to bugger the fuck off," he replied. "I'll let you know if she needs more than what I can give." Sullivan gave him a nod and walked away, allowing him to be the final person to walk in.

The sight of Kate lying in the hospital-style bed socked him directly in the gut. She was hooked up to a bunch of different machines, all calmly working, while her son and daughter stood next to her, wondering what to do. Malcolm stopped next to Lex, who wasn't that far into the room.

"Can you bring 'em home?" he asked his niece. "I need to stay here for the job anyhow—I'll let you know when she wakes up."

"Home first, then the flat—closer to you both that way," Lex nodded. "Be careful, Uncle Malc; you're not exactly in good shape yourself."

"I'm in a fucking hospital ward—if there's any place I should be, it's here."

Understanding, Lex went over to Gordon and whispered the plan in his ear. The young man muttered something in agreement and they led his sister out of the room. Malcolm waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps before claiming the chair next to the bed as his own, keeping watch over his lady exactly as he promised.

Hours passed. Aparajita brought him food, coffee, a fresh change of clothes, and even his mobile charger once she realized he was still there. He conducted business from Kate's bedside, slowly going bonkers from the calm environs he found himself in. Work was the only thing that kept him sane, glad that his PA also had the foresight to bring along his laptop computer. It kept him so busy, in fact, that it allowed Kate to open her eyes unnoticed, not catching his attention until she turned her head towards him.

"Malcolm…?" Even though her voice was thin and raspy, it was the most beautiful sound Malcolm had ever heard. Abandoning the press release he was working on, he picked up her hand and kissed the knuckles, careful not to bend it near where the IV needle was stuck. "What… what happened…? How'd I get here?"

"What do you remember?"

"The plane was surrounded, we were going down," she recalled faintly. "I was separate from the ship, but, Dad saved me. He caught me… and that was it."

"Timelord tit said it was a Cyberman," Malcolm frowned. "We don't know how, but it was one of those damned things."

"I know it was him, though," she insisted. "He called me _Tiger_."

That sort of evidence, well, there was no arguing it. He chuckled lightly and shook his head, knowing he had lost.

"I'm glad—telling the Timecunt to fuckall with her orders all the way to the end," he said. "Now there's a da right there."

"I… I…" Kate sighed heavily, her mind elsewhere. "Can you please let me be for a bit? I need to think."

"Of course… but can I at least leave you with a question?"

"Sure."

"Kate? Love? Will you marry me?"


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Now that I'm working again, this might become more difficult to update. I will keep trying, though.

* * *

 _Thirteen_

Malcolm woke up twenty minutes before his alarm, staring at the ceiling in self-defeat. That was now twenty precious minutes of rest lost; he had learned how to cherish rest since coming to UNIT, but never so much so within the past two weeks. He laid in bed until the alarm went off and smacked it into submission—at least it was the alarm and not his mobile.

He trudged into the bathroom and took a shower, indulgently letting the hot water pour over him until his skin was scalded-pink. Only fucking thing of his mam's he regretted inheriting was her nearly porcelain complexion and he knew it would haunt him until after he was at work. Sure enough, his hands and face were still reddish by the time he was dressed and headed towards the kitchen in search of coffee and a to-go cup.

"Surprised to see you," Lex said from the breakfast bar. She was the only other one there, as Fiona had been put on a train back to school over the weekend and Gordon had enough of camping on their couch to go back home to watch over his mother's house. "You've been gone two days and left before I got up for the three before that."

"I know—it'll slow down soon enough."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"Fucking wish it weren't," he scowled. He took the coffee and the black leather messenger bag that had been haphazardly discarded on the couch the night before, pausing only to pat his niece on the back. "It'll slow enough to get in dinner one of these days— _that's_ not a lie."

"Got me there—say hi to Kate for me."

"Will do, kiddo."

With that, Malcolm left the flat and began making his way towards Mainframe UK. While the Cybermen over St. Paul's and popping out of graves was nearly excised from the public's mind, things were still fucking _insane_ at work. There was no amount of swearing that he could do to make the situation any better, which was admittedly scarier than he preferred things to be. 3W, the corporation that the Master had partially used to commit her freaky-arsed scheme, had already been under investigation by UNIT for suspicious activity by departments not under his reach, but no one could have predicted this level of pandemonium. UK was the only Mainframe that suffered any amount of substantial damage, and by fuck it showed.

By the time Malcolm arrived at work, he tried not to look at the portraits hung on the wall as he walked down the corridor. They were all of people that had been on Boat One when it had been attacked by Cybermen… people now gone. He didn't want to forget their loss through not looking, but he didn't want to feel that pang that struck him when he was reminded of the one person that _did_ make it out alive. It brought a lot into perspective over the past several days and he didn't like it one bit.

He was such a fucking cunt—finally worked up the balls to propose to his lady after she had nearly _died_ and the answer was that she'd "think about it". Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck fucking—she didn't want him. He had finally found himself with a decent woman at his side and he blew it; never should have opened his mouth, let alone looked at her from the beginning. Should have kept his nose clean, but _no_... he had to get hard the moment she crooked her finger. _Glenn_ probably pitied him, which was the fucking kicker if anything.

A bagel and more coffee was waiting for Malcolm upon his return to his office. Aparajita was nowhere in sight, probably off napping somewhere. He didn't blame her, if that was the case, or could he blame her for any reason to pop off for a bit considering their workplace was so ragged. Opening up his email, he saw all the numerous things that he had been CC'd and BCC'd and tacked onto that had come in during his commute alone—he was handling Kate's work as well as his, and shit was not draining well.

For one, the Zygons were downright _livid_. At least two of Boat One's staff, not including the Scarfy that went down (if that _was_ the Zygon, no one knew for sure except the Scarfy that was left shivering in the medbay, completely unwilling to talk), were concealed Zygons. It didn't matter that the _human_ casualties had not been recovered amongst the nasty, absurdly-long wreckage line that stretched from Ipswich to Wycombe—their immediate Cyberconversion caused rapid cellular degeneration that made telling the freshly-dead from wandering grave-busters impossible—but the fact that the Zygon dead had not been retrieved for burial was causing contention. Their leaders understood at least, though it still didn't mean Malcolm felt as though it would merely go away.

Second was all the flack that was coming his way from Geneva. Blackbox records from Boat One were damaged in the explosion and subsequent return to the ground, causing the higher-ups to pitch a pretty fit. It did not matter that _he_ had no control over what Boat One did, nor did it matter that Major General Bambera fucking _vouched_ for Mainframe UK's leadership, because they needed to come down hard on _someone_ in charge and it seemed as though the _Acting_ Brigadier-Director would do since the _actual_ Brigadier-Director was incapable of remembering anything from after the attack began, let alone sending the distress signal. Malcolm was damned if he was going to bend over and beg; they could sod the fuck off for all he cared, because it was only going to be a priority until some other Mainframe had a catastrophe on their hands. He only answered the most recent messages in what were often chains of replies, being as courteous as possible without needing to call Aparajita to write them for him, and filed the remainder away, figuring he would read them later if it was absolutely necessary—he had more to do that day than read poorly-composed gibberish sent by bent wanks too proud to admit they needed personal assistants with more than two brain cells.

Third, and possibly worst of all, was simply a combination of the fact he was doing two high-profile jobs at once and _whose_ job he was moonlighting in. He fucking hated having to wade through Kate's things and do the job she was normally capable of, because it meant that she was currently _incapable_ , and that worried him more than anything.

Aparajita showed up after a while and things continued as normal until it was time for lunch. Malcolm left his trustworthy PA in charge and made his way down to the medbay for what was his temporary daily ritual. Sullivan met him and gave an update on how Kate was coming along (today it was "steady" and "no change"), after which he took the food cart containing both their lunches that was sitting outside his lady's door and wheeled it in.

Every time he saw her though, it broke his fucking shriveled heart. No, maybe it broke because she unshriveled it, made him not so much a shitty-arsed cunt, but it broke all the same. She was staring at the wall, as usual, at the 3D imagery that allowed her to view any scene she wanted to on Earth—a gift from the Doctor to help her and the other patients not feel like they were a few stories underground. Most of the time the wall showed different breathtaking vistas interspersed with her father's house in the countryside; today it was a shabby-looking little park in Glasgow he recognized as one he would occasionally haunt in his early journalist days.

"Don't tell me you want to go back to that piece of shite—can't even walk around that neighborhood without a can of mace these days," he joked as he sat down in the chair next to her bed.

"It's Glasgow; it'll change again."

"Not exactly the cheeriest today, are we?"

"Not really." She kept staring at the park while Malcolm set up the tray above her lap. "My father would take me here sometimes when I was little, and I've taken Gordy and Fiona."

"It's not far from the shitty office Jamie and I worked out of back when we were first starting out in journalism," he added. "'S how we met—all the odd jobs the Herald wanted but didn't want to waste one of its precious _actual_ reporters on, we picked up. Don't knock a friend made while at the bottom when they could have been poking around the top instead."

"Yeah."

"Talked to Fiona last night before she had to have lights out—the gelatin-brained offspring have stopped asking her questions, and the ones with actual brains have gone back to their business."

"Hmm."

"Scarfy's still a wreck and her uncle doesn't know what to do without either of them there."

"That's nice."

"Kate, love, stop it." He snapped his fingers in front of her face to no reaction. "You're scaring me." She turned her head and faced him, expressionless.

"Sorry Malcolm, I just…"

"…just…?"

"I had a dream about Dad again last night—it wasn't good," she admitted.

"Those never are… not since you've been stuck in this fucking dungeon."

"Malcolm, it's not like—"

"I'm going to ask Sullivan if we can get you transferred to someplace where there's at least some natural fucking light coming in through the windows instead of this sterile, idealized, spacecunt bullshi—"

" _Malcolm_ ," Kate hissed, ire quickly building. "Stop it."

"You've been here two weeks with a couple bruises; what you need is to see the bloody _sun_."

"They're watching over me."

"Clearly not well enough if you're still down here."

"Are you questioning Sullivan's ability?"

"I'm questioning _everything_ , Kate." Malcolm scowled, making it clear as possible that he was not in the mood to argue. "I've been coming down here every fucking day, watching you stagnate while forgetting what the sun looks like, while Geneva's been taking me and the Mainframe up the arse dry, the Zygons are pitching a fucking fit because how dare we not be able to tell one cyberconverted corpse from another despite the fact that's the fucking _point_ of those brushed aluminum cyberpricks, and the Osgood that survived is acting stranger than _usual_ , which makes shite even more ominous, and this doesn't even mention us…"

"Wait, _us_? What about **_us_**?"

"What, did you fucking forget already? You know, the thing I never thought I'd ask anyone else while there's breath in this fucking pathetic sack of bones? That thing where asking should only really be a formality?"

" _Malcolm Petair Alexander Tucker_ …"

"No—only me mam can do that," he sniped. "You said you needed time, and considering the circumstances, I've been going around, pretending that I never opened my gob, and the only thing it's gotten me has been crickets, Kate. _Crickets_. Rotten bugs are so loud I've had to stroke myself off a few times while waiting for you to _think_ ; I'm dying here."

"Except _you said_ that I should take my time, which I am more than interested in doing at the moment."

"…which I will wait out, but I'd at least want some sort of fucking _timetable_ on when you'll say something, or just a confirmation that it's even on your mind—never been against women's lib, but I've also never exactly been against putting a great thing out to fucking dry. If you insist that you're not going nutters in this hole in the fucking ground, then I'm sure you've had time to do whatever soul-searching rigmarole that needs to happen."

"Then here's your answer: I'm not going either way until we've put the 3W Incident far behind us," she said firmly. "I've been married once, and had a child in a relationship before that; I'm not exactly eager to rush down to the altar."

"If that's your way of turning me down, just fucking _say it_." Kate simply stared at him, mind completely blown.

"Why are you being such an arse?! _I'm in the hospital!_ "

"I don't know—why are you insisting you're fucking fine and dandy down here when you're not?!"

"Leave, Malcolm," she said, pointing at the door, "and don't come back until you've returned to your goddamned senses."

"Fine, then I fucking _will_." He stood and left the room brusquely, leaving his lunch behind. Almost running over Sullivan as she made her way to see why the monitors in Kate's room were going nuts, Malcolm stormed all the way back to his office and glowered towards his desk, only to immediately get up again and head towards the lift.

"Is everything alright?" Aparajita wondered cautiously.

"I'm out for a bloody walk," he growled. He saw her arch an eyebrow in curiosity. "Need to get out of this fucking subterranean dungeon before I get chained to the walls and bricked in alongside Fortunado."

"When will I say you're coming back? If I'm asked?"

"Whenever I fucking feel like it." The elevator closed before she could get another word out of him.

Malcolm Tucker had left the building.

* * *

It took him until after the sun went down, but Malcolm walked the entire way to his flat. He felt sick to his stomach—he shouldn't have lost his temper like that, but there was no taking it back now. With his self-appointed vow to never date in the workplace shattered, he was more humiliated and ashamed than he had been in a very, very long time. It was all fucked—piss down the leg—and he had no idea if he'd even be able to repair things at the office enough to be congenial. Fucking fuck him.

Entering his flat, he saw that there was no sign of his niece. Wait, what day was it? Thursday… yeah, Thursday; she had a lecture-study she managed at the university on Thursdays, meaning she wasn't likely to be back for a few hours yet. He flopped face-down onto the couch, lying there long enough to make his lower back sore, using the silence to reflect on his shitty behavior.

Yeah, there was no way around it: he had been a right tit earlier. If Kate didn't want him after this, then so be it—not that he'd blame her. Women had left him for less umbrage caused before, and her ditching him would make sense. Fuck, she could even dump him back into the cold, dank prison she found him in, and then maybe his trouser ties would be less of a fucking joke and more of a sweet, inviting form of an early release.

Fuck that—that was the sort of self-minded bullshit that made media martyrs and he was done with martyrdom. Steel himself… that's what he was going to do. Piss and vinegar nothing; Malcolm Tucker would figure out how to turn his blood into straight-up _acid_. It was the only way he was going to get anything done without distraction now.

Getting back up, he wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat. There wasn't much, but what there _was_ happened to catch his eye more than it should of: a bottle of whisky, already opened. The label was one which he hadn't seen in a long time, from before he was married, even, and the sight of it brought him back to another time…

Might as fucking well; he grabbed the bottle and a glass for himself and sat down at the breakfast bar, pouring himself a large one that he knocked back with ease. Malcolm could feel the warmth pooling inside of him and his head grew fuzzy as he poured another. He remembered this all too clearly—the eternal self-loathing, the pain that ebbed with each sip and the despair that replaced it, and the nerves that were sparking because the last thing you expose a live wire to is anything flammable.

It was all he fucking deserved.

He had poured himself a third glass when the front door opened and closed, making him grimace. His niece was now home and he was busted.

"You're out early," she noted. A few steps closer and she noticed the drink. "Fuck, Uncle Malc…"

"I know, it's not good."

"That's _mine_."

"I'll replace it—it's quicker at the moment than anything else."

Lex approached him cautiously. "Do I need to call Clayton?"

"No, I need you to tell me what happened—your words," he said. Malcolm sipped slowly as his niece sat next to him, pouring a glass of her own.

"Granny put me on a train down to London," she began, immediately understanding what story he wanted her to tell. She had told it to him several times, the only easy part being hiding how much it hurt. "It was exciting because it was the first time I got to go anywhere by myself. There was a car of us—all kids that were traveling alone that the conductor watched over—and I was the only one not going to a parent or grandparent. I also had the coolest person picking me up, because no one else's adult was a _senior press officer_ for _Number 10_ , in line to be _Director of Communications_ if Major got kicked out. No one knew what I was talking about, but that's okay.

"When we got to the station, though, you weren't there. I waited an hour in an office with the station manager before calling your mobile, because you said that work might keep you late and a call directly from me would be enough excuse to get away. You didn't answer, so I called Uncle Jamie instead, because wherever you were, he was usually right there next to him. He was there in half an hour—you weren't. The station manager almost didn't let me go with him, and I think only did because I was so insistent."

Lex paused to watch her uncle contemplate the remainder of the dram before continuing. "It was okay for a bit—Uncle Jamie was really good at hiding that he was boiling-cross—and we even found a place to eat. That was the first time I had chicken biryani, actually, and it's still one of my favorites…"

"I know you're fucking stalling."

"I'm getting to that." She poured herself another, finishing off the bottle, and put the empty on the far side of her, away from Malcolm's reach. "We got to your place and found you passed out on the sofa with a bottle of Lauder's, and that was only because all the Glennfiddich was empty in the recycling bin. You and Uncle Jamie got in a huge fight and he threatened to take me back to Mam and Granny, since you were in no position to have me over for the week."

"He should've."

"No, because I told him I was staying, and I made you hand me all the remaining bottles in the house so we could put it down the drain." Lex emptied the whisky in her glass and frowned. "When did this all happen, Uncle Malc?"

"1996."

"How old was I?"

"Eight—your birthday was in two months."

"…and what does Clayton, your sponsor who I should have really called by now, tell your stubborn arse?"

"To think about that, about my wee niece pouring my lager in the kitchen sink, every time I go to drink, and how she stayed by my side while I sobered up that weekend, taking care of me how a kid should never have to care for an adult until they're an adult themselves," he replied. "It usually keeps me at one, should I need to blend in, if I have any at all. You're the best weapon this pisser can have against his demons."

"I know, but it's obviously not working tonight. Are you that stressed over work? It's not that long until you can hole yourself back in your office and not come out for a fucking week."

"Not just work." He finished his glass and scowled. "I was an idiot and fought with Kate."

"She out of the medbay?" When her uncle didn't reply, that was the answer she needed. "Fucking _fuck_ , _ **why**_?"

"Because I'm a piece o'shite that really should know better on a lot of fronts—I'm done for."

"No, you're not, because you're going to go talk to her," she ordered.

"I can't just _do that_ … not after what I said."

"If you could fuck it up, you can unfuck it," Lex then stood, towering over her seated uncle despite the height he normally had on her. "You're not some raggedy cunt that can't wipe his own balls—if you go back and apologize, she'll understand that it's just because you're an irritable shit who temporarily has too much on his plate from forces he can't fucking control."

"Lex, she _knows_ my methods and I just treated her like she's an air-headed twat from the old days. Even if I'm sincere she might not believe me."

"If she doesn't, then just keep your head down until you can retire, for fuck's sake. You know it's bad when I'm swearing more than the Caliph of Cuss, High Priest of Piss."

"Fuck, yeah, you're right."

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled—how the fuck was his wee niece more level-headed and foul-mouthed than him? How the fuck did he let the pressure snap his judgement? Fucking hell…

"I don't deserve you, I hope you know," he muttered. She sat down and put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him.

"Yeah, yeah," she said teasingly. "Don't make me call Uncle Jamie and have him kick your arse. He can't risk being seen with you… not yet."

She was right; Jamie still being at Number 10, trying to be an inside man under the pretense of "cross-party employment" or some bullshit like that, was vulnerable soon as he darkened a pap's lens frame. Another year or so and the collective memory of those he was torturing himself with would completely forget the Tucker name. There would be a new bogeyman, if their luck hadn't all been spent on getting him out of prison, and the old friends could bond over a pint of some kid-friendly ginger beer once more.

Not yet though.

"Gimme a sec," he mumbled. Malcolm stood and went into his room, shedding his jacket and tie while unbuttoning the topmost buttons of his shirt. He fished his mobile from his trouser pocket and rang up Kate's personal number, not entirely surprised that she didn't answer.

He waited for the line to click over to voicemail and braced himself. The mobile let off a shrill tone and he stood there, contemplating hanging up anyhow.

"Kate, love, this isn't me apologizing, because I shouldn't do that over the phone while drunker than I have ever been the past fifteen years," he said, "but this _is_ me admitting that I'm a cunt. I'm a cunt who doesn't have any fucking business being in this game, who's abso- _fucking_ -lutely mad about you, and yet doesn't even deserve to have the luxury of being out of D-Cat. You have every right to turn me away if you never want to hear from me ever again unless on business matters, and even then we can talk through Rajit and Morton if you wish. Just… you're not going to get me much rawer than this. Kate, I l—"

The phone in his hand beeped and the voicemail cut him off. He let his mobile drop on the nightstand as he crashed into bed. Within moments, Malcolm was passed out and sleeping off his whisky, found a half an hour later by Lex. She dragged him to the bathroom and sat him next to the toilet, waiting for his body to begin the self-purging process. It took ten minutes and a crick in his neck to form, but he did eventually wake up and begin vomiting, the only things being left behind when he was all done was self-loathing, despair, and a throbbing headache that was not willing to go away any time soon.

* * *

Kate sat up in her hospital bed, tapping away at the laptop computer she had convinced Sullivan to allow her to have. It was early in the morning, right before the night shift was ready to be relieved, though with the wall projecting a cheery day at the seaside, it didn't seem like it at all. She was wading through her emails from the past couple of weeks, getting a feel for the scope of shit she'd be throwing herself back into soon—it was clearly cracking Malcolm taking on both their jobs and the sooner he was no longer Acting Brigadier-Director, the better.

Yes, Malcolm. The fucking moron made everything go tits up less than eighteen hours beforehand on the one thing she had been confident he wouldn't, even on accident: the two of them. Instead he acted with his dick, reminding her of why she hadn't exactly been keen on dating after her divorce from Fiona's father. Men were always too pushy and self-absorbed in the end, she had found. Loris had grown jealous of, not to mention angry at, her career, while Malcolm had just joined Jonathan in the Marriage Pusher category. At least she could say that there was no baby caught in the mix this time, as menopause had been mercifully short and well-timed, and a repeat of being walked out on while caring for a toddler wasn't even possible. The one thing she and Jonathan had been almost less-prepared for than marriage back then was being parents, and it was pretty much a given that Loris never demanded full legal custody so as to prevent a high-profile mud-slinging session that could stain the names of his businesses as ones led by a serial adulterer…

Fuck, why was she always shit when it came to her men?

Time passed and the door to her room quietly opened. Instead of Sullivan appearing, it was Malcolm. He looked like Hell spat him back out—his clothes were clean and fresh, yet his hair was a mess, his eyes sunken and red, and his skin paler than usual. His shoulders drooped as he crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to her, his back to the false seaside.

"Hey," he said. His voice was raspy and dry, just as awful as how he looked.

"I got your message," she said, pretending to have not so much as glanced at him. "I didn't think you were that much of a drinker anymore.

"I'm not." He fiddled with his hands, unsure of how to continue. Blunt-force bollocking wasn't king here. "Can I ask something of you?"

"Possibly."

"Please forgive me," he said. "Don't excuse me, because I was being inexcusable, but I do regret snapping at you earlier. I'm sorry and I want to you to know that it's genuine Malcolm Tucker talking—Malcolm Petair Alexander Tucker, the tit who owes you his entire life and freedom. I should know better than to talk to you like that."

"I'm glad we agree on something."

They sat there for a moment, one longer than it probably should have been, the two of them simply sharing one another's company. Kate could feel Malcolm wasn't trying to play her—he was genuine—and the silence was speaking to her louder than actual words ever could. Malcolm Tucker never groveled and the only other thing he could do more was get down on his knees.

This was still the medbay though, and hospital floors were no place to grovel on one's knees.

"I'm… I'm just really sorry," he continued. "If you don't want to see me anymore, I understand. Say the word and I'll go."

"Lucky for you that I don't think I'm ready to hang my libido out to dry just yet," she replied. She took his hand in hers and held it tight. "One of the things I admire in you is your passion, but getting married right now would be allowing our emotions to take control and get the best of us. I'm not ready, neither are you or our kids, and we need to remember that. I do see us getting hitched one day, but when our heads are clear and the time is right."

"Good, thank you," he croaked. Malcolm brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Just promise me you'll let me know when that time gets here; I'll be waiting."

"Come here," she requested. He went from his chair to the bed, laying down so that his head was in her lap and his feet were comically dangling off the end despite scrunching up his legs best he could. Kate ran her fingers through his hair while he kept his breathing controlled despite his watery eyes soaking her blanket. He fell asleep there, snoring softly as she continued skimming through her email.

They were going to come out of this better, she hoped. It certainly was a fight neither of them had wanted to have, but it would make them both stronger, and that was at least something to look forward towards.

* * *

A/N: Just wanted to say that I am deliberately taking liberties with alcoholism and how it works for the sake of the story. For an alcoholic, one drink can put them back on the path they worked hard to stay off of, and shrugging it off like Malcolm does here takes almost inhuman amounts of willpower. Don't fuck around with alcohol issues and be responsible when they do arise. I'm not saying omg the Drink is Evil or things like that, because I occasionally have some myself, but I am saying please remember that this right here is a potential best of the best case scenario and not necessarily realistic for the average person's ability.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Writing this (and other things) during my breaks at work has been part of what keeps me sane, so thank you everyone for your continued interest and support.

* * *

 _Fourteen_

Kate scowled as she stared out her office window over the atrium below. Leaning on her cane, she surveyed the molemen and the others that were milling about, taking careful note of their movements. Nothing had really changed since before Boat One went down and she was unsure if it was comforting or unsettling. They had lost so many in that plane—military, science, office people—it was a testament to the Mainframe that the transition had been smooth as it was. No one deserved what they had just been through, not even her worst enemy. She didn't move as she heard the lift door open, nor when her assistant announced that she had a visitor.

"Thank you, Morton," she said, too lost in her train of thought to even register what the poor woman had told her. Kate didn't even need to know who it was, since it was apparent when a pair of arms snaked around her waist and lips found her neck.

"Been dull without you here, love," Malcolm murmured against her skin. "The molecunts need Mam around and being authoritative or they stop listening to Da." He glanced down and saw her cane. "Dig that out of the Black Archive, I hope? Please tell me it's an interstellar torture device."

"It was my father's, and his grandfather's," she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Sullivan says I should use it for at least a week or two, just to be safe. I wasn't even aware that the fractures were that bad."

"Keep Alessandra happy and walk around with it for a bit—at least it was just your da's cane, not the one he used on you when you misbehaved."

"Hate to disappoint, but my father wasn't like that; didn't need to be."

"…and yet you still turned out fucking perfect."

"Good thing your mum wasn't like that, or else we'd have a very different situation on our hands, wouldn't we?"

"Yeah." Malcolm pondered quietly as he stole as much time with his lady as possible. "Hey, this Master twat…"

"What about her?"

"Do you think she'd do something like that again? Try to fucking eliminate all of humanity to get off on it?"

"I don't put it past her—the Master has always fluxuated between sociopath and psychopath, but now that he has regenerated into she, it only appears as though their brain has become even more unhinged. Sullivan thinks it is a combination of having gone through so many regenerations prior to this one and the female hormones going through her body for the first time."

"We can stop it though, yeah? We have that power?"

"We are one of the most powerful mainframes in all of UNIT, with experience, personnel, and technology on our side. Remember: the Doctor has been our scientific advisor more than once."

"That doesn't mean he gave you the correct information in any of those times, let alone _all_ of it."

"Malcolm, if there is one thing you need to know about dealing with the Doctor is that you should trust him," Kate said firmly. He was not convinced due to an almost rote quality to her voice; she must not have completely trusted him either. "The Doctor lies, and lies often, but he would _never_ do something to endanger this planet. If there is any truth, it is _that_."

"Love, I come from nearly thirty years in an occupation where lying not only cost someone their job, but it fucked over hundreds, thousands, millions, _billions_ of people due to the ripples in the national and global communities. Not being wholly transparent until after the deed is done I get, because someone _can_ use that wisely, but none of the shite he pulls. You may trust him, your da might have trusted him, but if he's old mates of the Master's, then I have no choice but to believe he's bad news. Trouble follows him."

"…and he gets out of it."

"So far—one day he won't and I don't fucking know what it will be like when that happens."

"You will still have me, and I will not do anything that would endanger our planet."

"…which is this organization's only saving fucking grace," he murmured against her shoulder. He clutched her a bit firmer, feeling as though he never wanted to let her go again. They both knew it was due to her near-death in Boat One, especially since Fiona was also ramping up the cuddling factor when she was over at her mother's house, but it still was interesting having Malcolm purposefully and publically hold Kate more often.

If only it hadn't taken what it did to get to that point.

"I should really get going," she said after a while. It was no use to attempt to keep the subject up; her beau had his opinions and they weren't likely to change soon. "I have an appointment in the medbay to look over some of my injuries from the fall. Do you think you have the time to change a couple of the ravens' batteries?"

"Any time," he replied. They kissed and walked together towards the lift, taking it down to the same floor. A second peck and the two split to go the opposite directions down the corridor. Malcolm found another lift and took it further down until he was in the forsaken lower bowels of UNIT's scientific network.

Walking along towards the Raven Room, a thought came to Malcolm: he hadn't seen the remaining Scarfy in _days_. Before the 3W Incident, he would see one, the other, or both several times a day. Now he had no idea where they were… well, where the _remaining one_ was. He passed up the Raven Room temporarily and went straight down the corridor to the main of R &D. There, he found the Head Osgood—the Scarfys' uncle—giving orders to his staff. Malcolm waited until the man was free, not wanting to scare him off by going in Full Tucker.

"Hey, Will, seen your niece anywhere?" he asked once the coast was clear. William simply shrugged.

"Petronella should be in her office," he said, "but I don't know how much good seeing her will do, no matter what Director Stewart wants."

Malcolm raised a brow at that. "What do you mean?"

"She's not talking much," William explained. "Ever since the other died, the one who's left has been too quiet for the Petronella I know. It's like she cannot listen to anything anyone else says, even if she tried." The tone in his voice and the look on his face spoke volumes more: he was frightened beyond belief as well as worried.

"Doesn't change the fact I need a couple details out of her for a press release later this week," Malcolm said. It was a lie—if it were Glenn he'd be caught, but luckily the Head Osgood was none the wiser. "Her dungeon, yeah?"

"Last place I saw her; just don't be too rough, please. You have a niece… you understand…"

Malcolm nodded and navigated the labyrinthine halls of Research and Development until he came to Scarfy's office. He entered cautiously, having only been there a few times before and one of those times nearly being subjected to an accidental booby trap. It was a cluttered, fucking gloomy place in his opinion, filled to the ceiling with boxes and half-finished experiments, all made worse with dim lights that screamed _mad fucking scientist_. Scarfy was hunched over a workbench, not paying him any heed.

"Oi, Scarfy, where've you been?" Malcolm asked jovially. "The molecunts are beginning to think they're no longer your test rats and can start mouthing off. Tante Petronella needs to make an appearance every now and then, you know."

"I'm busy," she replied plainly. Her tone irked him, prompting him to turn it up a notch.

"Listen Doublemint: what the fuck would the other one say if she saw you acting like this? Or is this how Zygons deal with shit?"

" _Osgood_ ," she said sternly, turning to face him. "I am not Human or Zygon, but _Osgood_."

"I don't care whichever the fuck you are! It doesn't matter! What matters is that you're acting creepier than usual and you need to fucking _stop it_."

Scarfy stood and went on her tiptoes, glaring at Malcolm and completely missing the fact his rage was quickly building at an almost record pace. "You didn't lose your sister."

"Cut the fucking martyr act—we all lost someone."

"Director Stewart is still alive."

"…and that's where you're _wrong_ ," he hissed. Temper now in shreds, he leaned in towards Scarfy and put on his best bollocking face, all eyebrows and flared nostrils. "She may be alive now, but for thirty cunting hours, she was dead. What was I going to tell her mam? She lost a loved one to UNIT already when she divorced Alistair, but burying an empty casket for her only daughter?! That doesn't even take the nips into consideration!" Malcolm watched as Scarfy stared blankly at him, unsure if the words were sinking in as the Head Osgood had warned him might happen. "I was even preparing to pull the last of my government favors so that her children could be guaranteed to stay together when they would need one another the most! Kate fucking _died_ that day, alright?! Get down from your moral high horse and act like a fucking adult!"

"She was my sister… my other half… the only one who _understood_ …"

"Yeah, well, people like Director Stewart don't come alone every day either. I'm not some randy shit going through women quicker than pants—if she were gone, I'd likely die alone. Living with the hole she was leaving me with… I don't wish that on my worst fucking enemy."

"It's still not the same." She took a puff on her inhaler—he was getting to her. Now to drive it home.

"Yeah, well, we live in the real world, Scarfy," he scoffed. "This is where shit fucking sucks a mutilated dick by the hour, and if you think people will be nice because of some garbage idealized concept of empathy and sensitivity, then you're wrong. Nowhere is truly 'safe', no one is the perfect sounding board, and certainly _no one_ is worth more than someone else when push comes to fucking shove. This loss doesn't make you fucking special and allow you to pity yourself into depression, nor should the rest of us bend over backwards to cater to you and wait until you're _feeling better_ or whatever the fuck. Life moves on. **_Deal with it_**."

"You are nothing but a foul-mouthed **_bully_** ," she snarled.

"I'm no bully—I'm _worse_ than a bully." He took half a step forward, which caused her to take a full step back. "I speak the truths no one wants to hear, in words so outlandish they are impossible to ignore. Yeah I swear and threaten and make people cower, but it's so that they _listen_ , and when they listen, sometimes they even _learn_."

"What am I supposed to be learning other than that Director Stewart should probably be warned that she's dating a psychopath?"

"That no matter what, all of us have a certain amount of ' _sucking it up_ ' and ' _stiff upper lip_ ' shite that we have to do, regardless of what we feel is appropriate, because that's what mature fucking adults do if they want to be treated as such," he said. "You want to be treated like an adult, yeah?"

"I _am_ an adult."

"Then get out of this fucking dungeon and at least make it so that you interact with more people than the ones who poke their heads in to make sure you're still alive."

"Why should it matter to you?"

"…because Petra would be fucking disappointed to know that Nella shut the fuck down and gave the fuck up after she was murdered by some bent spacecunt!"

Malcolm's words hung on the air heavily. Silence fell in the room, which was honestly louder than anyone could have yelled at that point. Scarfy sat back down on her stool slowly, her eyes glassing over, and leaned on the work bench shakily. Malcolm knew he finally hit the mark, pulling another chair up so that he could sit down next to her.

"The two of you were really close, yeah?" he asked, purposefully making his voice softer. She nodded in reply. "Listen: I know how sisters are. I got an older one, and although we fight and do stupid shit to annoy one another, I still wouldn't trade her for anything. Her daughter Lex is the closest thing to a legacy that I've got—I mean, _fuck_ , she's _named_ after me, which is really saying something—and someone has to be around to keep me in line when Mam finally ascends into space or whatever the fuck'll happen because I know she's not going to do something as common as _dying_. Sisters are sometimes all we got, you know?"

"She was more than a sister though… she was like my other half…" she explained quietly. "It's like a part of me is missing. When we found each other, it was like waking up from a bad dream where your best mate's not around and there's this weird hole in your life where they normally are. Now…"

"Hey, don't think you're the only one who's going to miss Petra," Malcolm assured her. Scarfy looked at him incredulously, unsure how to take his gentler change in tone. "Yeah, the both of you drove me up the fucking wall sometimes, but when push came to shove, you two were the most competent scientists I've ever known. I'm used to shouting at cunts and twats for cocking it up left and right, but you two… there was always an effort at the very least, and you don't know how much I yearned for that in my past life."

"...probably more than I can ever figure."

"Yup, and now even though we got just one twin, we still have an Osgood on our team." He watched as she dabbed at her eyes with her scarf, wiping tears that were stubbornly forming. If having a family was something he had wanted to do while young, she was almost the age a daughter of his could have been, and she was certainly the right age range to be another niece. Seeing her like this was awkward and unsettling compared to how he knew her before, and part of that made him dislike the Master even more.

Once she was done composing herself, Malcolm put a hand on Scarfy's shoulder and had her look him directly in the eyes. "I'm still going to yell at you, okay? If you fuck up even the slightest bit, I will not be kind, and I may even make you want to break down right then and there. What you need to do is remember this conversation and know that I'm on your side."

"If you're on my side, then why shout at me?" she wondered. "Why make me feel awful when I already have problems beyond what's here?"

"…because we all need to feel like that every once in a while, be reminded that our actions have consequences, or else there won't be a future because we accidentally shat so big that there's no way to clean it up," he explained. He took away his hand and rubbed his hair, exhaling heavily. "If I bothered to come in here, just when my life was beginning to look quiet for once, then what about all the fuckers who are too scared to come in and see what's going on _because_ they liked the chaos that came with the two of you? Moving forward isn't disrespecting Petra, not one fucking bit. Keeping on mostly like before is actually _honoring_ her, if you'll believe it."

"Thanks, Malcolm," she sniffled. Scarfy wiped a tear from her face and sighed. "Not often a bollocking has ended with a thank-you, huh?"

"Not very often, no," he admitted. "Marcia always thought I'd be better off as a motivational speaker or something of the like instead of getting into journalism, but what are you gonna fucking do? Survive off a pittance? Fuck naw."

"Is that your sister? Marcia?"

"Oh, yeah; she's a businesswoman up in Greater Glasgow, just as much a workaholic as I can get. She started on the ground floor of the organic cosmetics market and isn't doing all that bad for herself these days." He chuckled to himself before shaking his head. "She was eight when I was born and actually got into scraps for me as a nip. No one fucked with Wee Malcolm because his big, scary sister was ready to throttle anyone who tried."

"That's almost cute," Scarfy snickered.

"Yeah—fucking turned it around on her when I grew bigger and suddenly I was the protector," he remembered. "That bent tit that she had married got the raw end of that deal the day they split up, so really it's amazing I didn't go to prison when I was thirty for assault and not fifty for something soft as perjury."

"That's what having a brother's like?"

"Yeah, more or less. I imagine it's the same as having a sister too, just a more likely chance of having testosterone bursts getting the better of us and one less person in the monthly sync-up."

"I don't even want to _know_ what you know about monthly sync-ups," she shuddered.

"It's not pretty, I'll tell you that much." Malcolm then stood and began to walk over towards the door. "Oh, and Nella?"

"Yeah…?"

"Get your fucking shit together, or you'll wish _you_ were the one the Time Tit murdered in cold blood!" he snarled, the sudden noise making her jump. He gave her a grin and wink; he was covering their tracks.

"Get out of here before I have you replaced with a Zygon!" she shouted back. She gave him a silent nod in affirmation of their understanding. "Director Stewart would probably be more satisfied that way anyhow!"

"Nice one," he chuckled lowly. Malcolm then put on his best bollocking face and stormed from the lab, slamming the door behind him. He glowered his way through R&D until he found the Head Osgood at his desk. "She's still a fucking wreck, but I think I got through."

"You did…?" the other man asked hopefully.

"Probably; can never tell with the weepy sort. Your brother's daughter is fucking softer than a bowl of melted marzipan, shit… don't tell me your daughter's just as emotional."

"My younger son, yes. My older son, not as much." William frowned at Malcolm. "You said you'd go easy on her."

"I did—never had a true bollocking before this, from the looks of it. Give her a couple days to recover and she should start looking more like wee girlie you used t' bounce on your knee on holidays," Malcolm claimed.

He then made his way off back towards the Raven Room, to where he knew that the birds were still waiting on him. A mangled bird comprised of false feathers and exposed wires hopped off a shelf and cawed at him affectionately as he entered, rubbing its chipped beak against his sleeve as he sat down at the table.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day when one of my verbal beatdowns did someone a lick of fucking good, but here we are, Junior," he murmured. "Just don't let Mam know—she might get jealous."

"Mam! Mam!" the bird mimicked. Malcolm scratched its neck and picked up a screwdriver, using it to peek inside its mouth without cutting himself on the sharp metal.

Just another day at the fuck-office, apparently.


End file.
